Skylark
by Mata Barbie
Summary: When the King of Midland sent the Band of the Hawk on "special assignment" to go kidnap a fortuneteller everyone thought it was it was either a joke, or the good king was losing his mind. It is yet to be seen. Is this woman just a charlatan, or do her silent lips hold secrets that she simply can't afford to let fly? EDIT: As of Ch 13, rated M for violence and language and stuff
1. Synchronicity

It's been a while since I've written anything, but hey what the heck?

The story is set during The Golden Age for now.

* * *

The halls of the King of Midland's castle were frigid with the tension of war, and all the lords fell silent in grim conceit as the leader of the mercenaries band known as the Band of the Hawk crossed the threshold to The King's throne room. He moved among whispers, a sound he was growing increasingly accustomed to hearing amongst the castle but filled him with imperceptible unease all the same. It wasn't long before the king himself broke through the white noise.

"Griffith," spoke the king in unsteady baritone. "Your service to the crown has been commendable. It is because of your outstanding valor and inspirational devotion that I give you a task to be executed with the utmost haste and caution."

"Anything you require, your highness," the white hawk responded even and warm.

"In this time of war any conceivable advantage is to be exploited, and I have become aware of an oracle who's divination could be vital to our strategists."

At this even Griffith's posture tightened. There was an audible murmur amongst the lords. Griffith's knuckles whitened in annoyance.

"An oracle, your majesty," Griffith responded with strained disbelieve in his voice.

"Yes, rumors of her premonitions have circulated for years, but until now they were just hearsay. She has been located residing in a shantytown comprised of riffraff left over from the war campaign. It lies just south of Koka. You are to find her and bring her to me unharmed."

"I see," Griffith said with his eyes concentrating on the wall to inhibit the king from noticing his disbelief. "And may I ask how we will identify this oracle? Is her name known?"

"Her name, no, but the rumors all point to the same woman. She's a young Kushan with scars on her back."

"I see. Yes," Griffith murmured. "Then we will find her."

"Excellent. Go with haste. You are not the first ones who have been sent to retrieve her. Others either returned unsuccessful or not at all."

"She has protection?"

"Evidently, she does have a champion who defends her, but he is only one man. Cut him down."

"It will be done. Blessings, my king," Griffith said and with a sweeping bow he was gone.

* * *

"They want us to find WHAT?!" Corcus shouted over his mug of beer that night before they departed. "The king must be getting senile. Next thing you know he'll want us to go off and fight Nosferatu Zodd!"

"Hey easy," Judeau chimed in. "So what? It sounds like we get a reprieve from the fighting for a little while. Lets just enjoy the break, right Casca?"

"If that's what we've been ordered to do," she said less than enthusiastically. "This just feels like a joke. We're soldiers not errand boys."

"It's not a joke to him," spoke Griffith as he came to sit with them. He sighed as his thighs hit the seat.

"It is to me," Guts responded. "But money is money. Lets just get it over with. It's an easy task."

"True," said Griffith. "Terribly long ride though," he said stretching his arms.

"All the more reason to enjoy the scenery," Judeau chuckled.

"I suppose," Griffith said and grinned. "Rest easy tonight, everyone. We ride at dawn. I'd like to get this over with."

"Sir," the others responded in unison.

* * *

Many miles away, a dark woman sat on a muddy hill impatiently ticking down the seconds until this chapter of her life would end. Her narrow, grey eyes scanned the horizon and her lithe body shivered softly in the brisk twilight. The chill caressed the grassy flat lands that sprawled out before giving way to the thick forest ahead of her. She bent blade of grass between her thumb and index fingers until it cut her fingertip.

"What are you doing," spoke a voice gravelly but tender. She looked down at him and smiled at the scarred giant that laid his head in her lap. He grinned warm and crooked-jawed and buried his broken nose in her long side-braided plait.

"What do you mean?"

"You're mutilating plants, and they're biting you back," he said glancing at her fingertips as they spotted the moist earth with blood. "You always get that look on your face with you see something—something bad." He pressed her bleeding finger to his lips and she grinned.

"Change isn't always bad, dear," she said meeting her cloudy eyes with his wide and green.

"But this one is, isn't it," he asked and reached up to caress her round cheek then traced a slow line around the bottom of her full lips. "I told you, no matter what happens, I will always protect you. You don't ever have to be afraid again. I will never ever let anyone hurt you again." He sat up on his right arm and caressed the two rough scars adorning her shoulder blades. Her back arched impulsively. The pain was so distant she could no longer remember its origin.

"I know," she said as he turned his face to hers in a slow, careful kiss. "I love you, Leon," she said as though in a dream.

"I love you Arsinoe," he said and laid back down in her lap, so perfectly content that he could not see the tears falling down her face. She caressed the grass and made her finger bleed.

 _But one day…_

 _You won't love me anymore, and one day…_

 _I'll be far away, and I will long for this moment again._


	2. Yesterday

It was a sunny day, but amongst the Band of the Hawk nobody could tell through the trees. Thankfully the shade protected them from the intensity of the summer sun. That reprieve did little to affect the mood of the soldiers who had not been in battle for quite some time and were, to put it lightly, antsy. None more so than Guts- he growled malcontent under his breath.

"We passed Koka a day ago. How much further can this 'shanty town' be?"

"Shut up, Guts. You were there when the lord said it's a day and a half's ride south to the grasslands," Casca sniped. He grunted in displeasure.

"I thought the point of a shantytown is to be just outside a real town. Who the hell just posts one up in the middle of nowhere?"

"Well, word from the soldiers is that they left after the oracle refused to come to the lord's aid in battle. They sent soldiers to detain her, but some guy named Leon hacked a good number of them to bits, and they ran off. Apparently the whole shanty packed up the next couple days and went with them," Rickert said.

"You…sure they weren't just pulling your leg there, kid," Corcus said eying him sideways.

"Nuh-uh, you were there," he responded taken aback.

"They were all piss drunk. I don't believe anything anybody says when they're drunk."

"But didn't you just finish telling me last week that the three times a person is honest is if they're a kid, if they're drunk, or if they're angry?"

"Yeah, well… I lied," he said and spurred his horse forward with a noisy, "Hyah." Casca grinned and looked ahead toward Griffith whose expression was unreadable as ever. She sighed wistfully.

"That's the end," he spoke as if on cue, jostling the others to preparedness as the trees cleared to a grassy rolling hills beyond, and a mere two miles from their stopped horses lay a collection of ramshackle but carefully laid huts surrounded by a crude fence of pointed logs.

"Then lets get it over with," Guts said. "There's no way they have any real defenses. We could ride straight through that fence."

"That may be so," but I'd rather assess them up close. Lets speak with them," Griffith said.

"Are you mad? They could attack us first!"

"Or she may not even be there, and we may attack a slum full of innocent civilians," Griffith said arching a delicate eyebrow at Guts. "We will speak to them before we consider attacking." Guts scowled, but he know Griffith was probably right.

"Fine," he said. "Lead the way then."

* * *

"They're coming," Arsinoe murmured through clenched teeth from within the town. Leon stood beside her and unsheathed his sword as some of the people whimpered behind her while a few others stood beside him brandishing rusty pick axes and a couple badly damaged swords.

"Who do I need to kill first, Sin," he said looking back at.

"None, they're here to talk. They won't attack us yet," she said pulling a red shroud over her head and face.

"There's nothing to talk about. I'm going to kill them before they get the chance to draw their swords."

"No!" she spoke with agitation in her voice. "Just speak. Stay your sword. We'll be okay," she said taking his arm. He sighed.

"Okay, I promise. Now go inside, my love," he said and kissed her forehead before leaving for the mouth of the gate.

Behind him, four men followed. Their bodies were wrought with the rigors of farm labor but they were not wise in the sword. Arsinoe's hands trembled. She muttered for them to stop before they left the hut and they did.

"You know what to do…Please, keep him safe," she said feeling the tears well up again.

"We will, Sister Sin," spoke the one closest to her as he hoisted a heavy looking chain up on his shoulders. The others responded in kind and left her alone in the dim light of a single dying oil lamp.

"Oi, what's all this? The lord of Koka still ain' takin' no for an answer," he said leaning idly on the opening of the gate as Griffith, Casca, Guts and all approached on horseback.

"I assume you must be this Leon character," Griffith said staring down from the eyes of his helmet at a tall, bulky man with a stubbled face, crooked jaw, and defiant green eyes. He wore ill-fitting armor without a helmet and his large hands were bandaged and bloody from fingertip to elbow.

"Yeah, that's me, and you're not getting through this gate. Sister Sin don't want any part of this war."

"Sister Sin? That's quite a name," Griffith said rolling his eyes. "The King of Midland requests her council in the capital. We will not leave without her."

"That's too bad. You see," he said brandishing his sword. "If she ever travels to the capital, she'll be burned at the stake for witchcraft. Her own words," he said staring up at them. "And I ain't gonna' let that happen!" He charged the men.

But he only made two steps before being covered in chains from all sides in the hands of the four farmers. They pulled him to the ground. He struggled, but even a man so great was only one man. He dropped his sword in the mud and sank to one knee.

"What are you doing?! Let me go! I must protect her! You must protect her!"

"Who do you think told us to do this," the shortest of the four farmers responded, and Leon's face turned pale.

"No," his voice quivered.

Behind them, Arsinoe jumped atop the thatched roves clad all in red from head to booted toe. She wore no armor, only soft cotton, and anembroidered veil that covered her face and hair and fell to her elbows. She held her bow and an arrow between her fingertips, but did not yet draw it. She leaped from the closest rooftop and landed on the ground just in front of Leon. She drew the bow and met confused gaze of the Band of the Hawk's leader. She said nothing, but rested a hand on Leon's head.

"Am I to assume you're the one," he said looking down at her. She nodded.

"No, don't do this," Leon said trying to stand but his feet sank in the mud. She shook her head.

"No more," she said in a voice barely above a whisper.

"I will find you. They can't keep me bound forever." She dropped her bow, turned to him, and embraced his straining head.

"No," she whispered as her voice cracked. "This is it… This is how it must be. If you chase me, you'll chase death," she said and looked at him as tears flowed.

"I don't want to live without you," he said burying his face in her chest.

"But you will," she said. "You will lead these people. They will need you. It will be hard some nights, but it will get easier," she said and sniffled pulling away from him to look him in the eye. "You'll fall in love again; she will bare you two sons and a daughter, and you will all outlive this war." She released him and turned her head to the sky until she thought the tears had stopped.

She turned on her heels and walked slowly towards Griffith's horse and dropped her bow at his feet. He removed his helmet and looked down at her. She recognized this man and his billowing white hair—this man who would bring so much wonder and so much ruin to this world. She sighed and outstretched her hands. He dismounted his horse in front of her, then gently brushed his hand along the veil dropping it to the ground.

Before him, almond, grey eyes stared through him from a swarthy round face. Her hair was long and uneven locks of frayed bangs that failed to keep bound in the long side plaited French braid that trailed down almost to her exposed navel. She wore a ghagra choli of the deepest scarlet that had been cut short to allow for movement with tall riding boots.

"Take off you blouse," Griffith ordered. She stood back with her arms crossed over her chest. He realized his mistake.

"No. That's not what I meant. I was told we're looking for a Kushan woman with a scarred back. I want to know I've found the correct woman."

At that, she simply turned around. The cut of the blouse revealed the top of the a pair of mirrored, jagged scars on her shoulder blades. Griffith ran his gloved hand over them, edging down the blouse to see the extent of the damage. She kept her eyes on the ground.

"Don't you fucking touch her," Leon shouted and struggled, nearly toppling one of the four men restraining him.

"Seems an awful lot like she doesn't want you to stop me. Perhaps you should listen to her if you supposedly value her predictions," Griffith said as he did pull his hand away. Arsinoe picked up the veil from the ground and draped it loosely over her head. She turned to follow him and he picked up her bow.

"Sin, no," Leon stammered. "I will find you. I'll travel as far as I have to," he shouted finally wrestling himself to his feet as Griffith bound her hands in rope.

"Leon, please," she stammered dejectedly. "Don't make me watch you die again. I can't. I can't do it again," she shouted as her voice cracked and a final tear fell out of her eyes. Judeau's expression soured. Guts sucked his teeth. Casca pouted, and Griffith's eyes narrowed.

"Time to go," Griffith said as he hoisted her up onto his horse and mounted it behind her. As they turned to leave Leon sat paralyzed in the mud, his shoulders bowed.

She didn't dare look back. She didn't want them to see her cry.


	3. Light My Fire

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* * *

The horses' hooves sank in the mud as The Band of the Hawk road north with their new captive. She hadn't muttered a word since they left the shantytown and she had no intention of changing that. Her visions made keeping up with the present difficult at times, and she did not doubt that if she spoke too freely, she would give something away. No one knew better than her that something as insignificant as the beating of a butterfly's wings could have lasting effects if anticipated and dealt with promptly. In besides, there were only two outcomes for the people with whom she shared her secrets: they would obsessively seek her guidance and become paranoid over the myriad possibilities that her visions illuminated; or they would be displeased with the truths she laid bare and make some attempt to kill her.

Neither outcome particularly favored Arsinoe, so she resolved to speak only when absolutely necessary. Instead she simply listened to the bustle and banter and attempted to make sense of the people around her. Their faces were multitudinous yet their voices so much the same it was taking her longer than she'd like.

One thing was for certain, the man with whom she shared the horse, this "White Hawk" as they called him, was much more rare than the average mercenary. He possessed a universal air of nobility that demanded obedience , yet he was just common enough that none of his men resented him for his high brow. Else they were too afraid of him for their language to betray their thoughts. His grip on Arsinoe's waist was firm, pressing into her thighs. She thought to herself that while he was not afraid of her attempting to bolt off, he was cautious.

 _Interesting_ …

As is the case in fiction so it is as life, if you let someone talk, they will tell you everything you need to know about themselves, and Arsinoe was very knowledgeable of that fact. By high noon, she became aware of those who held the most sway among the men. There was the passionately brooding Guts, a man of few words but many extremes, riding a black horse only a few steps behind Griffith. The energetic and equally passionate Casca, rode only a step behind Griffith's horse on a bay mare. Thus far she had become aware of their position and of their morays. She liked them—their energy brightened her mood.

Unfortunately they both found her silence equally infuriating.

"So, how long have you been living in that hell hole," Guts asked, attempting to break the tension.

Arsinoe stared straight ahead with her veil loosely draped over her head—emotion unchanging.

"You don't have to be afraid," Griffith murmured softly almost in a whisper—his lips barely grazing her ear against the veil. She remained motionless but grasped the reigns tighter with her bound hands. His scent, like burned wood stirred mixed emotions insider her.

Griffith didn't try to speak a second time but rested his left hand on Sin's shoulder. This woman was a curiosity to him. He doubted her authenticity obviously, but he did admire her sense of sacrifice-even if he had not actually intended to harm the villagers more than need be. She was clearly nothing like Midland woman. The fabric around her head smelled of jasmine. Her body was sinewy like Casca but her hips and shoulders were wider. His fingertips sank into her supple skin. He loosened his grip reflexively and focused on the road ahead. Casca none the wiser but annoyed with Arsinoe's stoicism chimed in.

"If you think the silent treatment does anything to us, then you're a really dumb fortune-teller," Casca said bluntly. Arsinoe grinned and stifled a chuckle.

"Well look who likes you," Guts chimed in. Casca shot him a glare.

"He's right," Griffith replied grinning. "Perhaps it's wise for you two girls to spend some time bonding in the future."

"You've got to be kidding. Do not pin me with the quack fortuneteller. I don't even know why she's here."

Arsinoe didn't respond, but her stomach growled loudly for her.

"Hmm, perhaps it's time to make camp. It'll be dark soon enough," Griffith said—and so they did.

* * *

Arsinoe's hands were strung around a tree branch while the others set about making camp for the night. It did not matter to her. She sad down cross-legged and attempted to meditate. These were troubled times and she knew she needed her senses as sharp as possible. She remembered her mentor's words as though they were just now spoken.

"The desires of the flesh cloud the third eye. The absence of desire clears the path. Your instinct to survive is the strongest when your body is the weakest. To sharpen your mind's eye, you must sacrifice your body," repeated the words of a woman who's face Arsinoe had long forgotten—the woman who saved her young life.

She closed her eyes and tried desperately to find some sign of what was to come, but the static noise of the mercenaries and their bustling broke her concentration.

 _So be it. It's time to fast._ She dreaded the thought. Starvation was not a splendid outcome, but it was preferable to being murdered in one's sleep she supposed.

"Hey you," a familiarly gruff voice sounded and her eyes snapped open. Guts glowered over her with a condescending stare. "Come get some food," he said and untied the knot around the tree; keeping her hands strung together. "You try anything, and I'll break your hands, so you can't try again. Got it?"

She nodded and followed him to a great circle of benches and tables surrounding a rolling fire. The sight of it made her shudder. Suddenly in her mind, the sound of her own scream drowned out all the rest of the noise. Everything went black before her eyes. Her pulse quickened as from she felt the flames licking up her legs. She trembled in the spot so consumed with her sudden vision that she didn't notice Guts pulling at the ropes on her hand until he shouted at her.

"Get a move on!"

She looked at him with terror in her eyes and he was taken aback for just a moment. The seconds ticked by. She shook it off and walked closer behind him. Griffith was nowhere to be found. She supposed he was planning their rout in his own tent somewhere. Guts sat beside her at a long table and slid a bowl of thin-looking stew towards her. It was modest, but the smell made Arsinoe's mouth water. She picked up the bowl and drank three sips of the broth, then set it down in front of her—to her stomach's noisy protest.

She breathed slowly and intentionally. This was not the time to indulge, even if her body screamed for it. Casca sat on her other side, closest to the fire.

"It's freezing out here. Thank God for that fire," she said looking over at the rolling blaze. "It was hard finding wood you know. It just rained so we couldn't get anything started for some time," she said as she hastily drained her bowl of soup. Arsinoe attempted a nervous smile—it looked as uncomfortable as she was.

"Are you not hungry," she said looking at Arsinoe's mostly full bowl. She pushed it towards Casca who glared distrustfully.

"Look, it's not the royal palace or anything, but if you don't want to die out here, you better eat it. The road isn't a place to go hungry if you can avoid it."

Sin shook her head and looked down at the table closing her eyes for a moment's peace.

 _Casca snorted "suit yourself," just then the fire popped loudly as it hit a great wet pocket in a piece of wood and sent a small burning splint spiraling across the ground towards Casca's leg._

Sin opened her eyes and smiled at Casca who was yet staring at the bowl in front of her. The vision happened in the smallest instant.

"Suit yourself," Casca said and started sipping the bowl. Just then the fire popped. Sin quickly ducked down grabbing the flying ember in her tied hands. She hissed at the pain and dropped it to the ground between them. Casca eyed the bowed Kushan woman.

"What was that," she said.

"I didn't see anything," Guts said just turning around from his drink.

"Not…I mean, what did you just do," she said looking at Arsinoe. Sin shrugged and laid her blackened palms on the table.

 _That was coming at me wasn't it_ , Casca thought, but dismissed it in an instant. She did not believe in mysticism. Nobody did.

* * *

After dinner had been well settled, Guts led Arsinoe to a tent, bare except for a few crates of tarps and other sundries. He tied her to the post in the center and gave her a stern warning. He'd already been given the order to guard her-much to his chagrin.

"No funny stuff. I'm watching you. There's no way you're getting out of here." The silence between them dropped like a weight. He turned to walk to the entrance and just before taking a seat, he swore he heard her say…

"I know that."

He looked over his shoulder, but found nothing but her sloe-grey eyes staring back at him. Her stare was unnerving.

 _I know that, but I am the least of your worries, Guts._


	4. The Fool on the Hill

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* * *

Arsinoe's mind swam that night—visions of her flesh singeing off the bone made her whimper quietly in her sleep. It was always the same. Her face was screaming—and her head felt like split kindling. Her site was pitch dark, but the sounds and the smells filled her senses. She was being carried—dragged at the arms by two men. She didn't know them, but she could hear their armor clanking— _ugh that damned clanking_. She felt as though she was drowning in an ocean of voices jeering and cursing. She could hear them calling her filthy things. Her bare legs dragged along the dirty ground until her feet hit wooden steps, and she was forced atop the platform by her two carriers.

"You have been found guilty of sorcery and of treason," spoke a shrill attendant. "This is your last chance for absolution. What words do you speak for your damned soul?"

"I speak the truth," she said evenly and coldly.

"You still hold on to lies," said the king. "Your prophecies will not sway this kingdom. You are a witch and you will burn." She could hear the venom and the fear in his voice. It filled her with the most peculiar smugness despite her place. He knew she was truthful.

"And you shall wither," she said in spite and could almost feel the crowd squirm. "From the sands that birthed me, will come your ruin. Your castle shall fall, and in its place a palace of birds. Your forsaken savior will sit upon your throne, and you will be long forgotten."

"You should have had your tongue removed. Burn the witch"

Without any further ado, Arsinoe felt the fires flying up her feet. Her legs trembled as slowly but surely the pain built. She whimpered, she sobbed, and then the forsaken woman cried out.

* * *

Her eyes jolted open, and she gasped. The moon was still high in the sky and Guts's eyes were still perfectly shut as he sat cross-armed in front of the door. She shut her eyes and fell back to sleep.

* * *

This time her visions were of a legion of mismatched horsemen hot in pursuit of the Band of the Hawk through a valley. A high cliff breached the landscape behind them. The air was tense as their tired out horses were forced into full gallop. Griffith was holding her at her waist tightly as he spurred the horse ahead of the others.

There were just too many to fight, but there were just too many archers to flee. She kept her eyes open, scanning from left to right. The warmth of the morning struck her. The fighters attacked from the sun. These men were coming from the east. Griffith on the other hand was urging the horses to the tree line to the north. It was a long shot.

The men retaliated in vain as the soft whistle of dozens of arrows drowned out the sounds of their battle cries. This was not good. Certainly not good. She felt a sharp pain in her side as an arrow sank into her flesh. She gasped as her grip on the horse's neck went slack, and Sin felt herself slipping out of Griffith's grip. Her vision blurred and she awoke again.

* * *

This time she did not shut her eyes again. By the time the morning light peeked through the canvas, her eyes were wide open, and she had a fairly good idea of what to expect in the days to come. She lifted her head to find Guts staring right back at her. She shared with him a friendly smile. His face remained impassive.

"So you're up, huh? Good, get a move on. I want to eat." She nodded in response while he untied her hands. She didn't resist. "You know the deal. Your hands will break if you try anything." She laughed quietly and put her hands in the air.

They walked together to the assortment of cooking fires where Griffith was already giving the order for the present day. Casca stood to his right. She eyed Arsinoe cautiously.

"Nice of you two to join us finally," Griffith said less than amused.

"Blame the ice princess," Guts said. Sin cut her eyes at him and re-wrapped her face in her veil.

"Well look who's a gentleman," Casca snorted. "Couldn't bare to wake Sleeping Beauty, huh?"

"Anyway," Griffith said with pronounced pause. "Today we're riding west. The quickest way between cities is through the plane on the other side of the foothills. From there it's a straight shot to Edelweiss where we can stop for provisions. By this evening, we should be nearing the plains. We can rest he horses downhill. It's a brief journey, so we can leave in the afternoon."

 _Foothills and plains…Peachy._

They sat down to breakfast—Griffith beside Casca and Guts beside Arsinoe across from the two. She was handed another bowl of thin stew and ate two bites quickly. She took a breath and drained the water skin in front of her.

"Slow down," Guts said. "It's no purpose if you just throw it back up." She set down the skin on the table and rested her hands in her lap.

"I don't think he meant stop eating," Griffith chuckled quietly. "You're our guest, not our prisoner. What's ours if yours." He smiled warmly. Arsinoe took a third bite and grinned, before sliding the bowl across the table to Casca. Casca sucked her teeth.

"What are you doing?"

Arsinoe responded with a quiet smile. Griffith observed quizzically.

"Look, starving isn't going to inspire some kind of sympathy."

Sin didn't respond but took more water from the skin. Casca let out an exasperated sigh.

"Suit yourself," she said and emptied Sin's bowl into her own.

"I knew it. She does like you," Griffith grinned like a cat. "You two should go spend some time. Maybe you can get her to talk."

"Ugh, but Griffith. She's…weird."

 _You think so?_

"She's scared, is what she is."

 _No, not really…_

"See if you can make her feel a little more at home. I'll take her back once we get going. How about it?"

"Is that an order," Casca asked curtly.

"It is," Griffith responded warmly.

"Then I have no choice," Casca said before hastily drinking down the soup. "Well, come on then," she scowled.

Arsinoe rose, bowed politely, and flowed behind Casca.

"Weird girl," Guts said lackadaisically.

"She's just frightened," Griffith repeated.

"If you say so," Guts said watching the two disappear over the hill.

* * *

"Keep up with me," Casca said looking over her shoulder. Arsinoe strained to see through the trees. In the distance, she could hear rushing water. She noticed Casca holding rags in her free hand.

Suddenly the trees broke at a humble stream laid out in front of them, shaded on all sides by trees. It was in a word, peaceful—bathed in the glow of the mid-morning sun.

"Well, here we are. Here's a rag. Go take a bath," she announced like an older sister long tired of babysitting. Arsinoe just stared blankly. Casca scoffed.

"Look, on the road there's not a lot of luxury, but this is one of them. We don't have hot water, but we do have water and a little privacy, now go bathe. We're leaving soon."

Arsinoe nodded and started to undo her blouse. Casca did the same, a good distance away and watched her through impatient brown eyes. Arsinoe sat on the edge of the water on top of her discarded skirt and washed her bare bronze feet. Casca's eyes fluttered down Arsinoe's curves.

 _This girl is no fighter. Looks like a concubine to me_. Her hands looked soft as the soles of her feet, and there wasn't a visible scar on her besides her shoulders. The only distinguishing mark on her body other than the ones on her shoulder blades was a small red-inked tattoo scrolling diagonally up the her hip. It looked like Arabic script. Casca couldn't read it.

"This whole trip is just stupid," she vented splashing water on her face and furiously washing her body. "Waste of time, just escorting some quack to the capital. We should be fighting in the war. I hope they throw you in jail for wasting our time like this."

"They will," spoke the woman's voice voice quiet and deep.

"What did you say," Casca said and looked up. A moment of silence passed between the two distant woman.

"I said, they will," Arsinoe repeated, soaking the towel in the cold water and wringing it out on her chest. She shivered and gasped. "Terribly cold in this country. How do you deal with it?"

"So you do talk," Casca said no less annoyed.

"Never said I didn't," Arsinoe responded finally eying the petite warrioress. Casca looked as though she wanted to slap her.

"Then what have you been doing for the past two days?!"

"Listening." She paused. "Usually it's better I don't talk."

"What do you mean," Casca said making her way towards Arsinoe.

"Things slip out. It doesn't go well."

"Like what? Why are you even talking to me now?"

"I think you know like what, and I think you understand why," Arsinoe said finally taking the plunge into the chilly water. She let out a shrill gasp then stood again. The water was about waist deep for her, about rib deep for Casca. Sin held out her burned palm. Casca stared at her hand in silence, neither retreating nor advancing.

"You really did stop that log from burning my leg…"

"I did, and you knew that last night."

"Why? What's your angle anyway?"

"None in particular. I could stop it, so I did. My hand doesn't hurt a badly as your leg would'a."

"What was the point," Casca pressed eying Sin sideways. "What do you want out of me?"

"Mmmm," she paused. "Maybe, that's not the only thing I've seen that hasn't happened yet. Maybe you believe me. Maybe, I'm going to need your help soon. Maybe, I don't want to explain myself when I do; I just need you to trust? Maybe, I don't want to share that with everyone," Arsinoe said leaning in towards Casca's face, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"Well, maybe I do believe you. And maybe I will help you, but I'm going to need to know more than just that to trust you," Casca said and crossed her arms.

"What do you need to know," Arsinoe asked leaning back on a boulder scrubbing her face with a cloth.

"What happened up here," Casca said patting herself on the back. Arsinoe shrugged.

"Hand to God, I honestly don't know. It happened too long ago for me to remember. My mom told me my bones were growing badly when I was an infant. Said they had to cut me open and straighten them. I don't know if that's true, but I don't have any other explanation."

"Sounds like bullshit."

"Yeah, probably," Sin chuckled moving the cloth to her neck. "They're my wings. I cut them off when I fell from heaven," Arsinoe said breathlessly and bat her eyelashes. Casca grinned. "See, is smiling that hard?" Casca's smile dropped.

"Okay then…what's with the mark on your hip," Casca said her eye moving to Arsinoe's hip; seemed innocuous enough.

"Hmm, this," she asked looking down at the fine red lines. "It's ahh...how do you say it...club? It's a Kushan fighting club. I don't think they do that here."

"So you can fight?!" Casca looked legitimately surprised.

"Never said I couldn't," Arsinoe replied. "You should try not to jump to conclusions so much."

"You don't really look like a fighter," Casca said looking her up and down.

"Neither do you," Arsinoe said flatly. "But we both know you are, and now you know I am. So ask something else," she said visibly annoyed at being so brusquely dismissed.

"Okay, who are you and where exactly did you come from," Casca asked as the tension grew.

"I'm a bastard from Kush," Arsinoe replied bluntly moving the cloth up to her breasts. "Not much interesting information there, I'm afraid."

"Fine," Casca popped back. "Is 'Sin' you're real name," Casca asked more sternly.

"No no," she chuckled. "In Kushan, that's gibberish. It's a nickname, but knowing my real name will cause you more trouble than I'm worth."

"What kind trouble does a bastard get into?"

"Depends on the bastard." Arsinoe chuckled rubbing her underarms. Casca scowled.

"Maybe you don't need my help then," Casca scoffed.

"Maybe, you're willing to watch your men die," she paused. "Now ask your questions…"

"You better answer this one," Casca snapped back and paused. "How do I know you're not lying to me?"

"I'm not a good liar… Perception…well, my visions, they're like…" She looked at the water. "You see the way the water flows downstream?"

"Mhm," Casca replied following the line of Arsinoe's pointing hand.

"The ripples in the water all flow toward the same end. My visions are like the ripples—but they're possibilities. Some of them will stick, some won't. I can tell most of the time what will stick. Now, if I toss a pebble at the ripple," she said and skipped a rock along the water. It jumped three times.

"It causes it's own set of ripples, but the more I change the path, the more must be done to keep the path going my way. Eventually the path always corrects itself. Fate is like that…"

"You didn't answer my question," Casca said snapping out of her trance.

"Did I? I think I've told you what you really wanted to know," Arsinoe sighed. Casca seemed less than pleased with her vagueness.

"Look, I don't lie. It's too hard. The timeline don't stay straight in my head very well. I give stuff away, and I say the wrong thing if I try and lie. I can't keep it up. It's easier to just not talk if I don't want someone to know something. Make sense," Arsinoe stammered like a nervous child.

"I guess so," Casca replied. "Look," she sighed. "I don't know how I feel about any of this, but in the off chance you're telling the truth, I'll listen to you—once. But don't try anything, and don't you dare hurt Griffith, or I will kill you."

"Promise," Arsinoe said wringing out her long hair and starting to re-braid it.

"Now can you promise me something," Arsinoe said looking at Casca wistfully.

"What do you want?"

"Don't make me talk in front of the others. I'll talk to you if you want, but not them."

"If you insist. What do I tell them about this talk, then?"

"Whatever you like. I'm not in a position to argue."

"Well…okay then," Casca said. "We'd better get going. It's almost noon."

"I'll follow your lead."


	5. Stella by Starlight

Behold what caffeine has wrought! I am awake, and here be a new chapter! Trying to get the plot rolling now. There will be more romantic bits later, I promise. As always, favs and reviews are deeply appreciated! Thanks to those who have reviewed my story already! :)

* * *

Casca and Sin met the men just as they were mounting their horses. Griffith smile warmly while Judeau laughed at something Corcus just said. Casca scowled.

"What's with the face?!"

"Nothing, just admiring the view," Corcus said looking skyward.

Casca grumbled quietly as Arsinoe eyed the men. Something was shifting, but that something was not yet apparent to her.

"Feeling better," Griffith asked extending his hand to the brown-skinned woman walking towards his horse slowly. She inclined her gaze to meet his and the veil slipped off her head—the sloping curls framing her face blew softly in the breeze as she grinned and offered the slightest of nods. For a moment Griffith tensed, but he caught himself. She took his hand and hopped up onto the horse with some wobbling difficulty.

"Missing those sea legs, huh," Griffith offered warmly.

She put her veil back on tightly covering her mouth and breathed almost as softly as a heartbeat, "I miss the sea."

Under the sound of the horses' hooves, Griffith heard the murmur. _Did she just?_ Without thinking he leaned forward against her back. His stalwart armor pressed her forward into the horse's neck and causing her to overbalance. She squirmed and groaned softly as she strained to right herself. Her shoulders tensed as did her hands resting on the reigns between Griffith's. She looked back over her shoulder quizzically. He readjusted himself, then took her hips in his hands, pulled her back, and steadied her in the saddle before him. As her back arched, she tensed. He felt it and removed his hands quickly but not that quickly. They continued.

Griffith didn't dignify any part of that interaction with a response, but Arsinoe was not the only one to notice his body shift. Judeau's trained eyes scanned the two, and he quirked a bushy eyebrow behind his blond tresses. This was new, but he was too sly to call the White Hawk out on his bashful misstep—certainly not in front of the other men (especially Casca).

They continued that way for hours, as the sun moved across the sky within a half-days time they were already nearing the crest of the forest's hill before the plains that colored her nightmares the night before. The sound of distant rushing water below them made her purse her lips.

 _No, no, no, this is too soon._

She glanced over her shoulder at Casca. She was too far away to warn. This wasn't good. She knew she needed something—a diversion. She had to get the message across to her or else soon they would certainly encounter trouble.

"Ah, here we are," Griffith's voice drew her from her frantic reverie. "We've made excellent time. Let's proceed. We can make it across the field before nightfall and camp in the woods jut beyond.

Arsinoe shuddered. This was going to be humiliating, but it couldn't be helped. She thought of the grime covering the floor of a butcher's shop. She thought of the smell of rotting flesh and of feces. No luck. She flicked her tongue back to the soft palette of her mouth. It wasn't working. She breathed deeply and worked the back of her tongue against the back of her mouth back and forth back and forth back and forth. It was starting to work. Her breathing fluttered. She grabbed Griffith's hand, her own trembling.

"Are you alright," he asked. She shook her head and pressed his hand to her stomach. She started at him beseechingly.

"Looks like she's sick," Rickert said trotting a little closer to the two.

"Probably bluffing," Guts said literally at the same time Arsinoe decided to up the ante.

She tumbled over the side of the horse out of Griffith's arms onto her hands and knees retching and dry heaving onto the ground below perspiration dripping off her face. Rickert recoiled in disgust. Griffith frowned.

"Casca, take her somewhere," he ordered.

"Of course…" she said a little less resistant than before. She hopped off her horse and took Sin up by the hand.

"Make sure she doesn't run off," Guts shouted after them.

"Yeah yeah," Casca shot back.

* * *

Sin leaned against Casca and hobbled until they were safely out of sight and Casca turned her loose at the side of a tree.

"Do what you need to do," Casca said turning around. Arsinoe chuckled.

"Was I that convincing," Arsinoe giggled.

"Wait, what," Casca snapped turning on her heels to see Arsinoe's composure almost completely restored.

"I'm so out of practice. I couldn't actually make anything come out. I was sure you'd see through it." She chuckled.

"It was definitely theatrical," Casca said rolling her eyes. "So what's up? Why are we here," she asked with the hand resting on her sword's hilt.

"No trick; don't worry. Lets not go down into that valley during the day time. It's not in your best interest."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know exactly who it is that's doing the attacking, but somebody's gonna' attack us if we travel by daylight through that plain. And you know low ground ain't a good place to be in battle."

"That doesn't even make sense," Casca said. "What do you want me to do. Tell them to stop until nightfall?"

"Tell them what you want to tell them," she said. "Just make sure they do that."

"You're going to need to give me more to go on. Nobody's going to believe anything coming from. Hell, I still don't believe it."

"Yes you do, but that's okay. Let me see what I can do," Arsinoe said and bent over into a bush succeeding after a few moments' of efforts to retch up the remnants of yesterday's dinner. Casca scowled.

"What have you got against food?"

"Hunger makes your instincts come out. Hunters hunt harder. Birds fly faster. Me? I see clearer."

"If you say so."

"Bare with me. Visions don't really pop out on command," she said and sat down in the lotus position on the ground. She slowed her breathing, trying to deprive herself as much as possible while disregarding the divine pain that deprivation brings.

 _I am the master of my body. My mind is one with time._

She breathed out and her body felt like it froze. Time was silent. Her eyes saw darkness, and her feet felt no ground.

* * *

Casca muttered something about a dissipated mercenary band that turned to banditry. Sin opened her eyes and observed a man with a broken neck lying at her feet. She closed her eyes and opened them again to find she was running in the night with Casca at her side. They were moving carefully but clearing as much ground as possible. There was light at the back but darkness to their front. The stars above her lit the way. She knew the position.

* * *

She opened her eyes and there she was staring at the impatient Casca across from her.

"Well," Casca asked. "We need to get back, you know."

"Yes, and I have your proof. I can show you tonight. I can take you right to the threat. Please, make them camp tonight here." She clasped her hands together.

Why should I believe you're telling the truth and this isn't just some trick to get your allies to catch up to us?" Casca crossed her arms.

"Nothing is coming for me tonight, but an arrow will be coming for me if we fall into their trap tomorrow…"

Casca took a moment to think. This still didn't feel right, yet maybe, just maybe the woman was telling the truth.

"Fine, this is your one shot. I'll listen to you, but if I don't see proof tonight before midnight, I'll put an arrow in you myself.

"If I'm lying, then you should put an arrow in me," Arsinoe said and turned about face. "Lets go then, yes?"

"Yeah…"

* * *

Many of the men were sneering a little by the time the two returned. Arsinoe resumed her fake hobble holding her mouth in her hand.

"She must have gotten food poisoning somehow. We may need to take a break from moving her too much."

"How delicate," Guts said rolling his eyes. "Women don't do well on the road. For all we know she's could be knocked up? She could be like this the whole trip." Casca stifled a grin. Arsinoe hid her smile behind her veil.

"One night can't hurt, I suppose," Griffith said showing legitimate concern. "But it is awfully inconvenient," he said staring longingly for the other side of the meadow where civilization awaited them. He sighed looking down at the poor woman's nearly tearful eyes. His resolve broke. "One night…tie the horses and post tents, men." They all groaned.

* * *

Other than having to listen to the men bitch and moan about women being weaklings, to which Casca always snapped back, everything was somewhat at ease among the men. Arsinoe continued her ruse as long as anyone was watching, and sat on the ground trembling as the work went on around her. The only one who continued to feel any sympathy for her other than Griffith was Rickert who every so often offered her water which she would drink quickly and pretend to heave.

In time the work stopped, and they moved her to a tent inside which Rickert was charged with looking after her. Her hands were still bound, but thus far, this was the least amount of precaution they took to ensure her captivity.

 _Heh, I must have actually convinced them._

Naturally, she wasn't offered dinner so instead she laid on her side and stared forlorn at Rickert, whose company she was growing to thoroughly enjoy. He was a boy still at that tender age where the world was a magical place despite its dangers. At present he regaled her of one of the band's most recent conquests.

"…And you wouldn't believe it. Griffith jumped over another soldier. Head and shoulders! Well, not Griffith himself, obviously, but on his horse and he did this thing where he leaned sideways off the saddle and just-" He made a spirited stabbing motion with his tongue dangling from his mouth. "It was amazing. Got the guy right in the neck. It wasn't even like fighting anymore. It's like he was dancing. Right beautiful is what it was" he said finally pausing to look at Sin who smile at him from the floor where she laid her head.

"You poor thing," he said with a little frown. "You really are sick huh?"

She looked at the ground and her face dropped. He rubbed her head. She cooed softly.

"Well, you can go to sleep. I'll stop yammering," he said leaning back on a crate. "But I'll stay here, I do have to watch you, you know."

She gave him a salute and closed her eyes. He blew out the lantern and didn't notice until after he'd done it that Sin was lightly holding his free hand in both her bound hands. He looked down in the dark blushing profusely.

 _Poor thing's so scared_ , he said and closed his eyes slowly drifting off to sleep in that position.

Arsinoe waited and when his hand perfectly relaxed in hers she knew he had nodded off. She carefully freed her hands from his which, by now, were grasping hers back and quietly padded out of the tent.

She peaked her head out to find that most of the band was asleep in tents or in the open. This was too easy. She spied Casca's tent not far away and cautiously made her way over. She slipped inside to find Casca asleep and she gently rubbed her shoulder. Casca awoke with a start grabbing a dagger from under her bed roll and Arsinoe put her hands up.

"What are you doing here," Casca asked in hushed tones.

"You want your proof, come with me."

"No chance. Get back in your tent or I'll rat you out."

"Look, you're armed; I'm not. I'm even tied up. What can I possibly do to you?"

Casca took a moment. She wasn't worried about Sin as much as she was worried about the possibility of a compatriot waiting for them in the brush.

"I want to take someone with us," Casca said. Arsinoe's face soured. That's not how her vision went.

"I don't think that's a good idea…we have to sneak. It's not about fighting tonight. Just stealth, and we gotta' go quick."

Casca sighed, "fine, whatever lets just get this over with." Arsinoe smiled and waited for Casca to rise.

The two quietly left the camp unseen by the watch who had their eyes on the road to come not the road they had traveled. Into the bushes they slipped.

"Stay low. Stay quiet. This is going to be dangerous," Arsinoe said keeping her eyes wide open and her veil tightly wrapped around her head.

"Whatever," Casca said not far behind her.

In time as they walked, both women heard a voice; soon a torchlight loomed around a densly wooded corner. Arsinoe climbed into a tree branch with a shocking quickness despite her bound arms leaving Casca below with a furious sneer on her face. Weighted down by her armor, there was nothing young Casca could do but hide in the low brush as the stranger aired closer.

A scraggly man emerged wearing mismatched armor, a sword, and small shield babbling on as he drew closer and closer.

"This spot is dead. Ain't no more caravans coming through here. The merchants know too well. Don't nobody come through the bloody south no more, but no old Edgar don't know what he's talking about. Edgar just needs to scout. Keep scouting. Oh yeah, I'll scout. I'll scout my boot right up Errol's—"

Arsinoe dropped from the tree directly on top of the man, sending his body crashing to the ground below them. His head dashed on a stone, cracking his neck instantly. Thus, she stared down at the dead man at her feet, and Casca came to her side searching his armor for a signet—a sign anything.

"Some kind of brigand? A scout? Bandits aren't that sophisticated, unless…Errol…Errol of broad swords? They might be the Shasta Broad Swords."

"The who," Sin asked.

"They were a mercenary band, but they fell on hard times. I heard they turned to robbery, but I thought is was just a rumor, she said turning him until she found a small scrap of cloth on which a cutlass and pierced bag of gold was brazenly embroidered.

"Well, I'll be damned," Casca said looking down at it. "I was right…you were right," she said looking up at Arsinoe. She frowned. "They're going to notice their scout's gone."

"Hide the body" Arsinoe suggested. "Toss him down a ravine. Like an accident."

"Won't work. These guys are pros. If Errol is still leading them, I'm willing to bet there's dozens of them encamped out there. We need to warn the others that we should cover as much ground as possible before they find out."

"You're right."

"I know that," Casca grinned. "Lets go," she said as they took off sprinting back to the campsite.


	6. Knights of Cydonia -Part 1-

"Griffith," Casca spoke softly outside his unlit tent. Arsinoe stood a little ways behind her while they heard rustling inside. Soon The White Hawk emerged.

"Hmm, what is it? What's she doing out," he asked his eyes falling to Sin. Sin put her hands up and rolled her eyes.

"There's no time for that. We need to leave before the dawn," Casca said shoving the crested scrap of cloth into his hands.

"The Shasta Broadswords? Here? Where did you find this?"

"We found a scout; he was pretty close; didn't take us more than a twenty minutes walk east to find him. They're camped somewhere nearby," she replied crossing her arms. "We didn't stick around to find the camp sight, but there's no telling how many men Errol still commands."

"You're right. It's prudent to avoid that fight. But…how did you find a brigand scout," he said eying the two quizzically.

"Honestly…" Casca trailed off looking at Arsinoe who simply stood, unchanging.

"You," Griffith said narrowing his eyes haughtily. She nodded up at him.

He composed his thoughts and walked up to Arsinoe. His figure loomed over hers, but she did not retreat. How she intrigued him. Griffith had been doing his best to make sense of her since they day they met, yet she perfectly eluded him. Her posture was like a mirror; she reflected the emotions cast on her—yet her eyes remained both dead-flat and intensely-calculating. He brushed a wavy lock of hair from her forehead, and she made no change.

"Who are you," Griffith asked lowering his face to hers. Arsinoe glanced at Casca and opened her hand. Casca snorted.

"A bastard from Kushistan apparently," Casca chuckled. Griffith inclined his head towards Casca with a confused eyebrow raised. Her laughter subsided. "But, there's something to her fortune telling…She told me not to let us travel through the valley in the daylight, and she led me to the scout." Casca shrugged. "I don't know what to make of it, but she's helped." Casca mentally slapped herself as she listened to her own words echo into the darkness. She sounded like a fool.

"A bastard from Kush…a fortune teller who doesn't speak…an archer…" he trailed for a moment. "I'm going to say what I believe I know about you, Sin. Just nod your head or shake." Sin stared at him like a great black cat unblinking then cracked the smallest grin.

"We are holding you captive."

She nodded.

"You're not interested in escape…"

She shook her head.

"You're helping the band…"

She nodded, just slightly declined her chin.

"This benefits you?"

She nodded.

"But that's subject to change."

She didn't move but eyed the distant light of the new day on the horizon. They stood in tense silence. He sighed.

"So be it…Casca wake the men. We leave at once. As for you," he said looking at Arsinoe. "You need better supervision," he said grabbing a rope hanging off the exterior of his tent.

Arsinoe sighed but held her hands out for him to tie once again.

 _This is growing tiresome…._

* * *

The men were gathered in quick time. Sin could tell that Casca had spared the men the details of how they found out about The Shasta Broadswords. That suited her better anyway. She had been left to sit, tied to a post beside the horses, while the others busied themselves loading up.

In time, Rickert came to find her. His face looked impossibly adorable to Arsinoe all puffy and a little red from embarrassment. No doubt he'd gotten it in the neck for letting her slip away from him in the night.

"That wasn't very nice you know," he said frowning. "You made me look like a—"

"Kid," Crokus interjected from some unseen corner.

"Shut up," Rickert pipped. "I'm not a kid. I'm a weapon maker."

"What, you make a mace out of a rattle?" Someone laughed.

"Nuh uh," he snapped. "I've even taken a look at your bow, Miss S-i-i-i-n," he said drawing out the "i". "It's real heavy you know. There's wood inlay, but I think it's made of metal, it's strung so tight, you can't draw it back. Even if you could—the string's made of some kind of wire;it does give, but it'll cut your fingers to the bone if you try and pull it. I've never seen anything like it."

Arsinoe pouted before she could catch herself. _My bow's not to be tinkered with…_

Rickert noticed and grinned.

"I think…it's not really a long bow at all. I think there's a trigger somewhere that turns it into something much more interesting…"

Rickert was startled when Arsinoe suddenly took a knee and leaned down so that her face was inches from his.

"Not a toy," she said in a whisper so soft and quick it sounded like the hiss of a cat. Rickert was startled and took a step back. She stood again and reflected at him the warmest of smile then rested her tied hands on his shoulder. He pulled away and ran off.

 _So tiresome…_ she lamented to herself as Griffith walked toward her. She supposed they were ready to leave, but he said nothing as he untied the knot holding her bound hands to the post. He led her and she walked behind him towards a chestnut brown mare standing beside Griffith's white steed, a head shorter. He tied Sin's rope to the mare's reigns and offered his hand to help her up. She pouted and mounted the brown mare.

"Your help does not go unnoticed. I am grateful…Sin," he hesitated to say her name.

 _Strange_ , she thought. She nodded curtly. He in turn tethered her horse's reigns to his and mounted his horse. Then they were off.

* * *

They rode by moonlight, but there was too little to spare, and the valley was wide. By dawn they had only reached the middle of the gulf. Guts's hand rested on his sword as he rode at Arsinoe's flank. Casca brought up Griffith's opposite side.

"So let me get this straight; ice princess over here gets her own horse all of a sudden," Guts shouted between them.

"We need the horses to be able to cover ground at a moment's notice. Yes, she gets a horse."

"Looks like somebody can make Griffith soft after all," Judeau murmured between the many horses' beating hooves.

The sun was peering down on them now, and the trees were still miles away. This wasn't good. She was positive they were still going to be attacked, and at present, Sin was helpless—relatively speaking. She was still tied to Griffith's horse; dismounting was not a wise option in a wide open field soon to be full of brigands. She carefully pulled the veil over her face and wove the free edge into her hair so as not to come undone.

"Feeling restless," Griffith offered. Arsine said nothing, but pointed to his sword.

"Don't be afraid. You have protected us from a fight that could destroy us. We will keep you safe whatever comes."

 _Oh..it does come…._

A familiar whistle made her jerk her head skyward.

"We're under attack," someone shouted from the rear. Sin sucked her teeth as the arrows started to fly. She looked over her shoulder and pulled her horse taut from Griffith. Luck favored the bold; an arrow struck the rope tying their horses together, and by the time Griffith unsheathed his sword, Sin was breaking away from him. He reached out to grab her, but she was already too far. Not that he could catch her; he cursed as he prepared to face the pursuers.

 _Not good…_ she thought as she hunched into the horse and dislocated her left thumb to free her hands from the ropes. She held them in her hands. It was a decent length…This would have to suffice for now.

"You bitch!" She heard a yell from her left side. It was Guts. She had to laugh at that. She was still ahead of most of the rabble, and he was on just the edge. She tucked her feet beneath her body and half stood directly on her horse's back hunched behind its neck. Then she turned about face and ran that mare directly into the heart of the fighting clear past Guts who was in the middle of fending off two pursuers.

"What the hell," he said just before bashing some poor fool's helmet through the back of his head.

Sin eyed the battlefield. They were definitely outnumbered—and in her present state she could only reasonably unhorse…one or two if lucky she thought. This would have to be strategic. Death had to serve a purpose… She spied her target: a group of riders were antagonizing a cart driven by Pippin. The one directly leading them, on a broad necked painted stallion, was too close to the others. He could cause a nice pile up if immobilized.

She ducked to left side of her horse, crouching her veiled face beside its neck. She tied one side of her rope to the horse's saddle forming a noose out of the other. She rode that horse right through the rabble and threw the noose around the painted horse's neck, and jerked them abruptly sideways—causing the horses to collide in a pile of broken limbs and sweeping the hapless rider under the other horse's hooves. The cart was free.

Pippin stared in disbelief as the red woman rode past him. She dropped the rope, let out a shrill-prideful holler, and continued past Pippin who was shouting something at her she couldn't hear.

She continued her ride towards Rickert who was riding in the back of a cart on the left flank…

 _I want my bow._


	7. Knights of Cydonia -Part 2-

Happy Holidays to those that celebrate! Here's another chapter. Reviews are always appreciated. Peace. :)

* * *

The air was thick with the sounds of battle—metal clashed against metal and arrows screeched brilliantly overhead. Arsinoe held herself as close to the horse as possible as she neared Rickert's cart. He was outpacing three horsemen with arrows on fire, but not by enough.

 _Shit…_

Rickert hadn't noticed her by the time she was closing in. She knew if they fired those arrows, he was wide open. There wasn't enough time to think. She just shouted at the top of her lungs.

"Rickert! DOWN!" He obeyed the foreign voice impulsively. He looked back up and saw Arsinoe riding toward him just as an arrow roared past his ear, the fire singeing his hair. He shuddered. An arrow hit the cart and the wood quickly burst into flames. He gasped the action of the moment compelled him.

"My bow! Throw me MY BOW!" She screamed, reaching out to him. He fumbled around for a bit and produced the bow from the flaming cover and threw it to her. She caught it and slipped her thumb up the back of the arrow rest and a hidden latch unhooked. In its place a hidden blade shot out on each of the two new halves connected by the bowstring. She reached out for him to join her on her horse as he was just grabbing a quiver of arrows. He stared slack-jawed at The bow's transformation almost dropping the arrows a she scooped him to the back of her horse.

"Hold me tight," She screamed through her veil. This was turning into one big mess as they plowed straight into Rickert's pursuers. She gracefully threw one of the two halves of her bow at the oncoming archers and it cleanly slit one of the horse's throats before recoiling to her hand by the connecting wire. The horse came down with a tumble clearing their path, and she road straight through.

"That's amazing," Rickert exclaimed as she snapped the bow back into its proper shape. She reached for the quiver of arrows he was holding and rested one between her teeth and another in her hand. Now was not the time for heroics. It was time to get out!

The veil flew around her face as the two rode with the wind to the head of the scrimmage.

"We got company," Rickert shouted. He was right. One of the brigands was hot on their horse's tail. They were too slow to outrun him properly, but Arsinoe was preoccupied with another looming problem ahead.

Arsinoe released her first arrow into the back of a brigand antagonizing Casca—clearing the path directly ahead of them, then reared her horse to sweep behind and meet her own pursuers in the eye with the arrow between her teeth. She slowed her horse and took up the reigns of the dead man's horse.

"Go. We're too slow," she said flatly—her voice chesty and deep. Rickert got the message and hopped up on the stolen horse then broke away from her toward the tree line. His heart was beating as fast as the horse's hooves when he finally realized Arsinoe had broken her silence. He blushed again.

Meanwhile, Griffith had his hands quite full with pursuers. His shining armor was as good as a target for the keen-eyed bandits. They knew he was the leader and threw their best men at him. He railed against one outlaw toppling him from his horse while blocking another's arrow fire. But there were still four more to replace the one he had killed, and ten more to replace them if they failed. He was losing time and time was of the essence.

Arsinoe saw and knew he was in danger of capture. She took three arrows from her quiver and strung her wiry bow between bleeding fingers. It was an act of desperation. She gnashed her teeth and sent the arrows flying. One missed. One sank into the flanks of a horse causing it to buck the rider. The third wedged itself between the plates of armor of another fighter. He hissed in pain and Griffith took the chance, lodging his sword up the man's chin. When the thug fell dead Griffith saw Arsinoe in the distance restringing her bow. He instinctively braced his face for attack, but to his surprise her arrow sailed past him and lodged into the neck of another bandit. Griffith's eyes widened, trained on Arsinoe who sailed toward him.

His path clear, he rode on ahead of her and in time they made it to the tree line. Rickert, Casca, and Guts had already made it. The others were still in the heat of battle but closing in. Arsinoe tumbled off her horse and knelt into a tree steadying herself with her arms. She was exhausted. She waited to catch her breath while Griffith looked on.

"You're bleeding," he said calmly looking at her blood tricking up her outstretched arms from her fingers. She turned and stood with her bow resting on her shoulder. She stood immobile and passive.

"She's armed," Rickert exclaimed looking at the tricky bow.

"She's got no arrows," Casca said.

"That bow's not a bow. It's two swords!" Arsinoe looked at him like a chiding older sister. "And…and…" he started to trail off.

"And what?"

"And, she saved me back there with it…" Rickert admitted bashfully.

Griffith kept a lax hand on his sword as he dismounted his horse and slowly walked toward her. She didn't move. Always reflective- a mirror, a mimic. He stopped within striking distance and then unsheathed his sword. His eyes rested on hers tensely. Their breaths stopped a moment.

He dropped it to ground at his side. She responded in kind, slipping her bow off her shoulders to the ground with a graceless thu—her eyes still meeting his. He smiled. She grinned. He approached her and cautiously clapped a hand on her slight shoulder. She returned the gesture on his opposite arm and bowed her head.

"Again, you've helped us. It seems as though I am in your debt, and I still don't even know your name."

She responded with silence. He sighed.

"So be it, woman. You…you are deceptive," he said releasing her shoulder and walking to her side, eyeing her from her head to toe. "You're clearly a better fighter than you let on, and it's…possible you _are_ a fortuneteller."

Griffith was silent a moment. Arsinoe shifted her feet.

"But in the mean time, you are bleeding," he said taking up her hands in his and wrapping them cautiously in bandage he produced from inside his shoulder plate. She sighed softly. "You have helped us yet again, Sin. Your help will be rewarded." She looked up at him inquisitively.

"I think at this point, binding your hands is unnecessary," he said looking her en her down-turned eyes. "You will be free to move about the camp as you please. You are under my protection from here on out." He turned to face the men and in his most authoritative voice proclaimed:

"The red woman is in my care. If anyone would protest this, or harass her in any way, you will answer to me for your transgression."

His declaration was met with groans of protest from the men, but no one man dared speak loud enough to be heard individually.

"In the night, you'll return to me in my tent."

She eyed him cautiously seeming taken aback. He sighed.

"Unless of course you'd like to take your chances with them," he said and she looked back at the eyes of many men who leered at her from afar. She scowled.

"You see my point," he grinned. "I will not harm you. You have my word."

Arsinoe looked down at her hands.

"I'll leave my sword by the door, beside your bow."

She waited a moment to grin then offered her hand. He shook it, and that was that.

 _Curiouser and curiouser. Just what sort of man are you, Griffith?_


	8. Dream On

I've had too much coffee...here's an update. I'm going to go rethink my life. ;_; Rate and review at your leisure!

* * *

They led the horses on foot between the thick trees. It was not long before night fell. At Griffith's behest, they set up camp for the night in the deep woods. Arsinoe took the time to help pitch a tent wrapping the rope around her forearm to save her sill torn skin. It didn't go unnoticed. Guts scowled at her struggling to pull tight enough. He picked up the rope and with one tug pulled it taut. In some ways he wasn't comfortable with an outsider doing anything that could possibly effect him. In others, he could see she was struggling and wanted to save her the trouble and the blood.

"Go sit down. You're not one of us," he said gruffly. She arched a pointed eyebrow at him and dropped the rope with a scowl. She turned to walk away but Guts caught her by the wrist. He pulled her uncomfortably close and glowered over her.

"You listen to me. Just because you've been acting all goody goody, that doesn't mean you can do whatever you want now, 'cause I don't trust you. If you do anything—anything at all to harm Griffith or any of us—I will hunt you down." At this she lost her patience. She wrenched her free hand back and socked him in the belly as hard as she could. To Guts's surprise, the wind left his lungs. This time she pulled him to her face by his shoulder.

"Last thing you ever do," she hissed like a cornered cat. She freed herself from his grasp on her wrist and walked away to the other side of the camp with her right hand slack and bleeding through the soaked bandages. She looked over her shoulder and looked down at Guts's belly. She smirked. "No one will believe you…"

Guts stood for a moment, as surprised as he was furious, but a lingering discomfort drew his eyes downward. He looked at the spot on his plackard where she struck him and found to his surprise his armor had bent severely in a bloody concave roughly the shape of Arsinoe's hand.

"Who the hell are you?"

 _Well that hurt…_ Arsinoe thought cursing herself for losing her patience. That was a dumb thing to do and she would definitely be feeling it for a while. Her skin was well town on the outer edge of her fingers. She pushed it down and covered her arms with the veil. Griffith greeted her with a smile.

"Evening. Have you eaten already?" She grinned and nodded.

"You're a bad liar," Griffith chuckled. "I've seen you. You've barely eaten a bite since you joined us" he said and turned around to look at his maps laid out before him. There was a hunk of ham unevenly cut, alongside a wedge of cheese, bread, and a bunch of grapes. He gestured to them. "They're yours if you like. They're mine if you don't." She shrugged her shoulders and tore a piece from the cheese popping it into her mouth. She snorted loudly as her lips puckered. He laughed with his back still turned.

"It is rather sharp isn't it," he chuckled. "My…you're quite a bleeder aren't you," he said looking back at the plate where she'd left a curious red stain on the hunk of cheese.

 _Gods damn it_ , she thought. Not careful enough. He stood up from his table, produced a small knife from his side and cut away the tainted piece, then produced more bandage from an open box on the counter.

"Just come here then," he said opening his hands. She did, and he carefully unwrapped the soaked bandages to reveal her terribly torn hands. "What did you do?" He looked at her incredulously. "You're not a soldier. You mustn't be so hard on your body," he said wrapping the bandages firmly but not uncomfortably so.

She winced.

"See," he grinned looking into her eyes. She met his and looked away. "You are strong, but you're only human," he said and turned away opening a small sack of sundries they had procured in their campaign. He produced a pair of beautifully crafted women's leather gloves.

"I had someone else in mind to give these to, but I think you could use them," he said offering them to her. She slipped them on over her fingers and felt the cool compression of the second skin. She did have to admit. They felt good.

She fixed her lips as if to form the words of gratitude.

He sat transfixed waiting for the sound.

She caught herself and instead placed a gloved hand on his cheek and pressed her warm lips against his temple. Griffith was caught off guard. He exhaled a breath he didn't know he was holding and reached through her hair to pull her in closer. She tensed. He stopped, his lips barely a breath away from hers , and he let go. He sighed and pulled away from her.

"I should finish planning our route. Please eat something. There'll be hell to pay if you keel over on us."

In truth, Sin's stomach was killing her. She conceded and ate most of what was on that little plate in record time. She sighed in satisfaction. Her body was pleased, but now her mind was thoroughly clouded. Her vision blurred, and at once she was not sure she was looking over at Griffith still preoccupied with his plans or looking at a dungeon in which he was bound in irons and a strange, birdlike mask. It was all so confusing to her. She rubbed her eyes and found Griffith staring back at her smiling warmly.

"Sleepy?"

She smiled bashfully. It made his chest fluster.

"Just as well. I believe it's time for us to rest tonight. We'll be back to the capital in a couple weeks."

She nodded stoically and laid her veil on the side of the table. When she turned around she found two bedrolls laid out side by side. She shrugged off the intimacy and began to let her hair down from the braid. She never could sleep with it pressing into her neck. She eyed the bow by the doorway and contemplated how much time it would take for her to grab it if she needed it. Griffith noticed her eyes lingering. His face soured.

"You don't have to be so alert. You're not in danger here," he said finally unstrapping his armor. "Or are you," he said peering over his shoulder at her. "See anything interesting in that head of yours?"

She remained silent, staring passively at him. Not to be simple, but she enjoyed seeing him out of his armor. His face always seemed out of place resting atop a suit of platemail. He had neither the face of a scarred soldier nor a monarch with their deformed underbite. His was the face of a statue. Some unknown beautiful creature that caught the eye of an artist somewhere. When she watched him, she could see all the potential there was inside of him that amazed her and moved her to tears, for she did not only see his potential, but also the inevitability of his descent. The glory, the ruin—it was as though flames and light surrounded his footsteps vying for their share in his afterglow.

He however, could not see such contemplation in her—only the mirror-edged eyes that taunted his ignorance. Arsinoe quieted his tongue but sent his mind into a frenzy that left him hanging on her unmoving lips, and how he wanted to make them move. He lost his track of thought for an instant watching the full body of her hair curling and waving free of the plait at the tips of her gloved fingers. She shook her head finally breaking the trance.

"Just as well. Get some rest…Sin," he said dropping to the bed closer to the exit leaving her pinned between him and the wall. She didn't protest.

* * *

In the night, the dreams came back worse than ever. She smelled the mildew covered air and tasted rust between her broken teeth. She was lying face down in a cold, wet place as her body screamed a hopeless silent sound.

The clanking of iron bars in front of her would have startled her into wakefulness, but she lacked any energy to move. For the first time she could make out the guard's voices.

"Not so scary now, bitch," one said gruffly. "Bet, you'll just be beggin' the king for a pardon now. None of that high and mighty shit."

"Oh shut up. Don't get her started," the other one said almost fearfully, taking up the chains that bound her limp wrists to the wall. The two hoisted them over their shoulders and dragged her along the grimy earth. The rancid filth stung Arsinoe's exposed legs, but still she couldn't see anything.

There was a dull pain in her head that made her feel dizzy, but she tried in vain to find her feet. She struggled pathetically as they walked down a corridor that felt endless, until the cold stone gave way to soggy earth.

Then came the jeers. Vitriolic and crushing, like the great wave of sand that billowed across the the land she once called home. They forced her out to the platform, by this point she'd could count the steps. _Ten eleven twelve, and up_. She lifted her foot and walked with with feeble lofty stride like a willow dangerously close to uprooting.

She writhed in her sleep—her shifting mass causing Griffith's eyes to ease open and up her muscular form. He watched her twisting, unaccustomed to the mood stirring in him.

The guards bound her, right arm then left to the post behind her back.

She lethargically reached her right arm, then her left above her head, while Griffith watched with curiosity. Her chest heaved with quivering breaths as beads of sweat rolled down her neck. Griffith's lips parted in thirst.

The speech began again. Always the same.

"You have been found guilty of sorcery and of treason! This is your last chance for absolution! What words do you speak for your damned soul?!"

"I have said nothing but the truth."

"Liar!" The kind shrieked. "You will die for your insolence, witch!"

"Give my regards to my father. He will be the death all you Midland swine," she hissed from her cracked lips

"Burn, you demon!"

With that the pyres were set and the fires began their slow, savory ascent. She writhed and let out a throaty groan, in her dream as so in her bed. Her body convulsed at the heat and she whimpered aloud. The flame caught her ragged clothes and she bawled aloud, jolting to wakefulness with a start. She gasped and panted caked in sweat, tears in the corners of her eyes. She held her shoulders fighting nervous shivers and sobbed quietly.

Griffith watched her with cat like eyes with his hands under his head. She was in pain, he could tell, but seeing Sin fall into such a violent trance disturbed him in ways he was certain it shouldn't have. His reflexive sympathy moved him to speak.

"Do you want to talk about it,' Griffith asked. She just whimpered quietly and hid her eyes in her hands.

"I'll go get you some water," he said taking the hint that she could use the space. He walked slowly towards the door when he heard her speak in a throaty whisper.

"Stay…"

"What did you say," he asked barely hearing her. She looked at him, her face swollen but not red.

"Stay…please?"

Griffith felt the heat rush to his face. Her voice sounded like the echoes of the wild—soft and beckoning with mystery but hooded and visceral all the same. This woman was no Midland princess. He walked beside her and knelt down in bed where he had been before. He watched her carefully. She neither reached for him nor did she recoil. He waited for her to speak. She did not.

"So..is that dream, what you would call… normal?"

"It comes and goes," she said with her head hung, her curls obscuring her face like her precious veil.

"Quite, life-like to you, is it?"

"More now than ever. It's coming closer," Arsinoe said.

"What is?" Griffith gently and slowly brushed her hair behind her ear so he could see her face.

"The day I die," she said and met his gaze for the first time with emotion he could understand in her eyes: fear…

"I'm going to die," Sin said and started to shiver again. "The end of my life has begun."

"You really believe that, don't you," he asked looking down at her and wondering where he left his handkerchief.

"It's my fate."

"If you already see it coming, why don't you just flee," he offered gently stroking her shoulder.

"It's my fate…It serves a purpose."

"Well that sounds noble, but from where I'm sitting, you're not satisfied with that…"

"It's not…that's not the way it works…" she turned her wet face towards him.

"Well how does it, magician?"

"Time flows like water. You can splash it—you know…move drops around, but you can't stop a waterfall. Big stuff gotta' happen. Even if I splash around, I'm still gonna' go over the edge."

"Then swim out of the water."

"Fate has no master, Griffith. Not even the Gods," she said looking him straight in the eye. His chest constricted when he heard her mutter his name.

"We are, and I can prove it to you," he said finally wrestling a handkerchief from seemingly nowhere and drying her cheeks with it.

"Prove it," she said taking the cloth and wiping her neck and chest.

He reached into his shirt and pulled out a grotesque little amulet. Red, egg shaped with a face terribly askew. She eyed it curiously, but deep in her mind some latent memory begged her to get as far away from that relic as possible. Strange, she was certain she had never seen it before. Why then, did it fill her with such conflicting dread?

"What is that?"

"It is called the Egg of the King. A fortune teller once gave it to me, and it's saved my life twice since I've carried it. It Is said whomever holds it will be destined to be the king of his own land."

"So, a good luck charm then?"

"I suppose you could look at it that way if you like," he said with a little smirk.

"So…see you believe in destiny."

"I believe in holding destiny in my own hand," he said wrapping his fingers around the artifact and taking her hands and wrapping them in his. Arsinoe had the queerest notion of taking the egg from him, but she could not determine if that was her fear of undoing talking or something else entirely.

"Fate is not for me to tempt. I have tempted her enough. You cannot force her hand without her in turn forcing yours, and believe me, she'll make you bleed for making her wait." She took her hands away and embraced her shoulders again.

"Is that what you believe?"

"It's what I've seen. I change someone's fate, and they wind up worse off…It is not a good gift I have," she said looking at him with honest sadness in her eyes. He was silent a moment.

"I believe, that this is a good death for me. I can't explain it, but I'm compelled to do this. There is something important that compels me down this road—some big reason, but I can't find what that reason is…" she said and sighed lost and defeated.

"I don't believe that, Sin," he said—her nickname still feeling terribly awkward in his mouth.

"Oh? What do you believe then," she said turning her head to face his blue cat eyes looking at her. His stare, she noticed was unlike him. The expression was not authoritative but forced, as though he was giving far too much thought to a very simple situation, and for the first time since she left with the band of the hawk, she picked up on that rigidity. She touched his hand, gripping it loosely in her fingertips.

"I believe," he said and trailed off delicately brushing the short hairs from her moist cheeks and wiping her tears away. "I believe, I won't let you die, Sin."

Arsinoe was surprised. His resolve was so powerful-his voice unflinching. It moved her the way that a soul is moved by the rising of the sun. She almost believed him—that she meant that much to him. Her limpid heart swelled. He put his free hand to her cheek and gently met her parted lips with his. Enveloped in her one-another's warmth for a moment the two felt peace, but that peace only lived the life of one deep breath. They pulled apart and one last tear fell down her cheek.

 _There is no saving me, Griffith…_

"I believe, it's time for you to go back to sleep. I will protect you from what comes," he said brushing that tear away "You can think your transcendental thoughts in the morning."

She laid there beside him, staring at the tent walls for what felt like forever but she was certain was only a minute at most.

"Griffith," she asked.

"Yes," he replied, his voice dripping like toasted caramel. He rose to his elbows and looked over at her.

"You didn't ask my name this time."

"Would you have told me," he asked knowing full well the answer.

"No, I suppose not," she replied. A moment passed between them in silence.

"Thank you," she said with half-lidded eyes looking up at him.

Griffith gently stroked the side of her face with the back of his fingers, and didn't say a word. She shut her eyes and in time Griffith slung an arm over her shoulders. She wasn't sure if this was in sleep or intentional, but she didn't care. For the first time since leaving Leon, she felt safe, wanted…However illusory it was, she was at peace.

And that night she dreamed a special dream- one that would inspire her to tempt fate...

* * *

There ya go. I really hope I kept Griffith in character. _ He's a complex character. They all are.


	9. Nature Boy

Arsinoe closed her eyes and when she opened them, the felt herself floating along gently in a pool of cool water, her head barely breaching the surface. She was looking up at the stars. It was a peaceful change. She thanked her subconscious for the gift when just then an agitation in the water drew her attention. She inclined her head to the side and saw the cause. Standing just beside her with feet barely under the water was a boy no older than Rickert. She was positive she had never seen him before.

He watched her with large blue eyes and she stare up at him in turn. He looked like a doll someone had played too roughly with. His cheeks were childishly full and rosy. His eyes, however, betrayed his knowledge- a lack of innocent ignorance that aged him far and away from other children. He was filthy, covered in soot and dressed in singed rags. His head was bleeding from some unseen wound.

"You see me," he said his voice crackling and dry.

"You're standing in front of me," she said.

"Where are we," he asked.

"I can't say. A dream I guess," she replied. "Who are you, child?"

"I am Lucas," he said. "What is your name?"

"I am Sin," she responded.

"Sin's a strange name for an angel," he chuckled like a squirrel. "But your name's Arsinoe. That's a strange name for an angel too," he said kneeling into the water beside her.

"How do you know that, fantasm?" She eyed him warily.

 _Because, I see inside you,_ his mind voiced the words.

 _"_ You're an empath," she responded to him.

 _You were crying. I have no idea how far away from me you are, but I could here you like you were right next to me. Why?_

"I guess, we're birds of a feather. I haven't met another one since I left Kushan," she said finally sitting up on the bank of the river. "I can't see inside like you, but I can see ahead." He seemed to get excited.

"Can…can you look ahead of me? I'm really scared. I'm in a bad place. Can you tell me if I will get out?"

"I suppose…" she said and gently reached out a hand to him. He touched her hand and instantly his life lay bare for her in no certain order… What was certain, was that there wasn't much of it left to see. She cringed.

* * *

Lucas was staring into the unflinching eyes of his captor who was holding him helplessly by the hair.

"You little shit. Think you know everything," he growled and unceremoniously grabbed him by the neck. The pitiful child struggled to no avail as all went black with a disturbing snap…It was the last sound he was going to hear…

His home was burned to the ground and his arms were clapped in chains at the behest of a band of slavers. Lucas was walking barefoot in the forest as his feet bled, then thrown into a cage by nightfall, and those were the good days. The men in the camp were perverse. Lucas watched them take women and children away in the night and only sometimes return bleeding and sobbing. He could gently persuade them too look him over, but as he lost strength in his body, so he lost fortitude in his mind. He was terrified and starving when one of the men took him away. She gasped and pulled her hand away. Some things were better left unseen…

* * *

"I suppose that wasn't good. Was it," he muttered dejectedly fighting had not to sob. "I'm not gonna' escape, am I," he said his voice failing him.

"Not alone," she said. "Do you know where you are? I'll find you."

"I-, I dunno. They burned down my village yesterday. It was called Wellstone. I haven't seen anything since, but I think we're heading north. I…I can try and look inside one of the soldiers…I guess."

"This is going to be difficult for you, Lucas, but I want you to be strong. I'm going to save you," she said and pulled him into an embrace. He was sobbing quietly into her breast. His tiny body trembled.

She pressed her face into his singed hair and sang words of a lullaby she though she'd forgotten long ago about a strange, enchanted boy.

She mused to herself that it was abut little Lucas.

"The greatest thing, you'll ever learn…is just to love, and be loved in return…"

* * *

In her sleep, she gently mumbled the words just loud enough for Griffith to hear. He smiled tenderly and drifted back to rest.

* * *

There, a lil shorty. Thanks to everybody keeping up with the story so far. :)


	10. Fly With The Wind

"You're awake," Griffith said the moment Sin's eyes eased open. She turned her face toward him, her frayed front hairs clung to her round cheeks. He chuckled and delicately brushed the locks from her face. She rubbed her eyes and sat up. She groaned softly stretching her back.

"You have a lovely voice, Sin. Do you know that," he said. "You were singing something in your sleep. Do you know?"

"Huh," she said finally letting out that held breath. "S-singing?"

"Yes," Griffith chuckled under his breath as she stared at him with uncharacteristically wide eyed confusion. He recognized the look. She was embarrassed. He chuckled.

"It is a nice change to hear your voice you know. I do hope it sticks," he said and stood, brushing close to Arsinoe's face as her did so. He reached for her and she took his hand. He pulled her to her feet. She hesitated, standing so close to him. Her eyes hit the floor.

"Perhaps," she spoke barely above a whisper. He slipped his hands up her arms to her shoulders and she met his eyes. He leaned into her face…

And just as their lips were about to meet, the flaps to the tent opened wide and Guts rambled in.

"Perhaps not," she murmured and took to braiding her hair back into its giant plait.

"Griffith. We've found something," He said eyeing Arsinoe. She didn't even have the strength to roll her eyes but rather picked up her veil from where she'd left it and slung it over her head and around her face.

"What is it," he asked walking shoulder to shoulder with Guts and grabbing his sword from the entrance to the tent. Arsinoe remained inside.

Griffith greeted the sun through squinted eyes. Most of the rest of the band was already up and active. Some were eating, others were outfitting the horses. Casca was noticeably absent. Guts gestured to a stack of feebly billowing smoke in the not too far distance.

"What is that," Griffith asked a second time.

"Not sure," Guts said. "It doesn't look like a campfire. Casca went ahead to check it out, but she has not come back yet." Griffith eyed the weakly billowing smoke beyond the trees.

Arsinoe joined them outside with her bow resting on her shoulder. She felt in a haze. Her thoughts were jumbled confusions of reality and time, but one thing seemed certain. Her dream the night before was crystal clear. She could still see the boy's crying face in her mind, as near to her as her tender hands. She pursed and unpursed her lips and without thought started walking towards the distant embers floating trance-like past the men…

"Lucas," she murmured into the folds of her veil. "Lucas, are you still there…"

She received no response. She could not untie the knot in her stomach and in some ways she already knew why.

"Sin, don't be in such a rush," Griffith said seeming to sense her lingering agitation. "We will go meet her. Let's gather our horses.

She stopped in her footsteps and nodded sighing gently, she turned around and rejoined the men.

"Can you still hear me," she said feeling that inescapable pathos pulling her back in.

No response.

* * *

They took up the horses and in no time at all they came upon the source of the smoke. It was a shock that the billow wasn't grander, for the remains were many. The burnt out husks of shacks and barns lay before them. Mangled bodies of a few defenseless men lay face down in the filth. Casca's horse was tied at the charred wooden gate to a ruined farm. The band stopped there to survey the damage.

"Brigands," Griffith said impassively breaking the silence.

Gut's face soured as he noticed the relative scarcity of dead bodies.

"Slavers," he road ahead—his grip on the reigns tightened; his body characteristically tense.

Arsinoe was fighting a losing battle with her grief. She was trembling. Griffith came to notice and approached her on his horse putting his hand on her shoulder.

"This is not a good thing for you to see; I am sorry," he said in deep whisper

"Wellstone," she murmured quietly. "This place is called Wellstone, isn't it?"

"I don't know," he said barely above a breath.

Just then, the sound of Casca's footsteps roused everyone's attention. She was jogging comfortably with a piece of wood under her arm. She panted softly.

"Nobody else's here. I think they've all been taken away. Bunch of hooves and feet, leading that way." She pointed over her shoulder. "They tried to destroy every trace of this place. This was all I could find," she said and tossed down the plank she had been holding under her arm to the horse's feet.

On it, though badly burned, was painted in dull blue one word. Griffith's eyebrow arched. His curiosity piqued.

"WELLSTONE"

Arsinoe shuddered. Lucas was here. So close.

"Good thing," Guts said. "Looks like we just missed the fun. The fire can't be more than two days old."

"Fortunate. That's a good amount of distance. I would be wise not to engage them if it is avoidable. I suppose we will not take the main road any longer," Griffith proposed, his eyes lingering on Arsinoe's reaction. She withdrew into herself, losing hope by the moment.

"Lucas," she murmured worriedly. "Answer me?"

No response as they trudged the horses between the ruined homes and slaughtered men. Griffith kept his horse beside her, stealing quick glances to her side, but being thwarted by that veil.

 _Just what's going through that head of yours..._

"Lucas…" this word alone, Griffith heard her murmur aloud. "Are you real," she finally asked dejectedly as a tear finally made its way down her face.

"I am here," ethereal words answered her, and she picked her head up as a gust of wind blew, carrying her veil off her head and blowing it some distance in front of her. Griffith rode ahead to catch it. Casca scowled. Arsinoe breathed deeply for what felt like the first time in her life with tears still stuck to her cheek.

He returned with her veil in hand and put his hand to her moist cheek. One could almost hear the sound of Casca's teeth grinding. Somewhere unseen but very near Gaston was laughing audibly.

"This is too much for you. We should press on," Griffith said.

"No," Arsinoe murmured between them. "We should hunt them down," she looked him up into the eyes with fire that Griffith had never before seen inside of her—even in the fury of their last battle. He grinned.

"It is unwise to unnecessarily risk the lives of my men, but…" he said when he saw the look in her eyes. "We are traveling in the same direction. They are slow, and we are fast…" he said and left it at that, trotting his horse ahead. Arsinoe smiled mirthfully.

"Lets go, men. Be on guard. There are many dangers on the road we travel."

* * *

Thanks for your patience. This is a little short for me, I know, but I'm just lining up the pins in my head. Happy day of happiness! :D


	11. Just my Imagination

Beneath Arsinoe's steady gaze, her anxiety and tenacity did battle. She gripped her horse's reigns tightly and tried as much as she could to divine the future. When would they meet? What would they be up against? So far passion clouded her mind's eye. She could not see at all. She grunted under her breath as her mare leaped over a stump in the dirt road.

"Woah there," Griffith said, coyly eyeing Arsinoe. "You're very thirsty for battle," he said—eying the transforming bow affixed to the horse's saddle.

She shook her head, but forced herself to slow down all the same. Losing control wasn't becoming of a lady afterall.

"I still don't see where you get off fighting with a weapon like that. Where'd you get that bow," Guts said inclining an eyebrow.

Arsinoe made a show of pulling the glove off her right hand and lightly scratching her cheek with her bandaged, damaged fingers. She replaced her hand in the glove, and she felt Guts's eyes linger on her, as familiar anger bubbled up to his throat. It amused her. She knew he would never admit what transpired between them.

"You're healing well," Griffith said eying the bandage no longer soaking red. "But you'll just hurt yourself again if you pull wire every time you string an arrow. I am curious as well. How did you come across that weapon?"

Arsinoe shook her head gently and continued ahead. She was not getting into that. Not right now, anyway. The scent of hyacinth wafted past her nose.

'A gift from your mama, right Sin?' The little voice spoke in her ear surprising her.

'Lucas, you're here,' she replied in her head.

'Yup! I'm taking my mind off me and putting it on you!'

'How did you…never mind. Don't poke around. Not everything in my head is healthy for children.'

The strangest sensation washed over Arsinoe as she felt the boy sifting through her memories. She could smell scents that brought her back to her long abandoned homeland. Metal and charcoal reminded her of the grand braziers in the throne room. Henna, harked her mind back to countless nights spent beautifying by candlelight. Tumeric and caraway made her mouth water; Elephant dung with it's specific overwhelming odor; The salt of the ocean, deep and piercing, dancing on her tongue as much as her nose.

Suddenly, she was not riding a horse beside Griffith and Guts. She was standing on a sandy shore, so red that the sand looked like fire dancing in the wind! Before her stretched the ocean endless and vast; deep jade and turquoise colors ebbed and flowed within and without each other. She sank to her knees draped in white linen and breathed deeply. The air was spiced with marjoram turmeric and mint. The sky was the color of dusk and all ablaze with endless red, orange and the distant line of indigo warning of imminent nightfall.

'Oh my God. This is beautiful,' said the fairy-like voice beside her. Suddenly as if out of the aether, Lucas was there, standing beside her watching the endless expanse of the sea—dressed in white linen kurta.

'What is this place?'

'This? This is,' she trailed off, turning around, so that her back was to the sea. Behind them at first at great distance—then suddenly shrunken and reset— lay outstretched a massive city. Perched high into the city encapsulated by walls of magnificent white marble, cornered with shining bronze domes.

'This is where I came from…'Arsinoe said looking up at the imposing façade.

'Doesn't feel like it. Well, doesn't feel like you feel like it.'

She didn't respond, but felt the moisture leave her parted lips. Lucas playfully pulled the white veil off her head and wrapped himself in it. He inhaled deeply.

'Smells like you,' he murmured. 'At least…What I think you smell like…' he chuckled to himself. 'This place; it's so big. I wanna' see inside,' the precocious child looked up at her with his puppy-like eyes.

'I…' she trailed off, as though the wind had left her lungs. 'Wait. No…No no,' she sank to her knees and looked over at Lucas's apparition. He seemed perfectly real—perfectly intact and unharmed. She shuddered.

'Are you hurting? Is there anything you can tell me about where you are? How can I find you?'

'Don't...um. I'm okay. Okay? I'm okay for now. Let's just…think about you for a little bit. I like it here,' he smiled at her with a charming little gap in his teeth.

'Please. This is important. Tell me where you are,' she said taking him by his shoulders—looking him in his eyes.

'Uh, we're just walking; we're just walking for now. I'm very tired. I don't know where we are. I've never been this far away from Wellstone. We're on the road though! Definitely on the road!

'Now how about we ride the elephant? You're a princess right? You can do that here. You can do whatever you want in the castle! We can do anything here. Let's just stay, please,' his last word betrayed his desperation. Arsinoe's illusion faltered.

'Lucas, don't be silly. I need you to be strong now. You can help me find you, if you slow them down. Reach into someone's mind. Play with them. Ride elephants with them. Do whatever it takes. Just find some way to make them stop the caravan. I'm on my way.'

'You're really doing it? You're really going to try and save me?' his voice sounded unsteady as the apparition flittered in and out of vision.

'I will save you.'

'But that's not what you saw in your head…is it?'

'It doesn't matter. I can change it. I will change it!"

'You'll change my fate…or yours?'

The apparition vanished. Suddenly Arsinoe's mind went dark. She was once again jostling gently on the horse's back. She inhaled for what felt like the first time in forever and winced in anguish.

The sun was setting. He must have been dancing in her mind for hours. She fruitlessly tried to right her sense of time and space. It seemed like they traveled far in the time she was daydreaming. Guts and Griffith were deep in conversation.

"We're getting too close," Guts said.

"Do we really want to get involved in this," Corcus piped up. "What money are we gonna' get out of it?"

"This is sport," Griffith offered.

"This is curiosity for her," Guts said eyeing Arsinoe.

Arsinoe stopped her horse and turned it to face Guts. She eyed him and dropped her veil to her shoulders so he would see her gaze. She said only one word, but the look in her eyes struck Guts the same way that Griffith struck Guts every time he spoke, and that word was…

"Justice."


	12. Don't go to Strangers

By the time evening had fallen, the men were weary and still barely any sign of nearing the caravan. Arsinoe knew she would not be able to push them any further, but the feeling in the pit of her stomach worsened. Lucas was in terrible danger.

"It is time to set up camp," Griffith called as if on cue. He trained his eyes on the men as Arsinoe stayed her horse. "We'll catch them tomorrow. Don't be anxious, Sin," he chuckled in Sin's direction. There was an audible rumble among the men. Arsinoe's insistence was not going over well.

 _Lucas, are you there? I will find you tonight. I swear it._

She received no response and it made her insides contort. He was getting weaker—more vulnerable. She could feel it. For now, however, she needed to modify her strategy.

This evening, she helped with the tents. Her hands were no longer so injured that they tore when she held the ropes. She worked on stringing a tent towards the outer edge of the campsite. Relatively out of sight or so she thought.

"Not bad for a hooker," someone said behind her back. She stood up but decided it was best not to turn around to confront them. She started to walk away, naturally angering the straggling mercenary.

"Hey, I'm talking to you. You think you got everybody fooled just because you're riding on Griffith's horse, but you don't. You're just some foreign whore! Think you're too good to talk to me?" He seized his side arm and started to follow her. Arsinoe neither walked faster nor slower but started heading towards more familiar faces.

"Bitch, I'm talking to you," shouted the mercenary as he drunkenly raised his sword and started to swing. His wrist stopped in midair—caught in a coarse grip.

"That's enough," Guts said picking the man up off his feet until he dropped the sword.

"But you see the way she parades around like she owns the goddamn band!"

"I said that's enough," Guts said and dropped the man who fell to his knees. "Now apologize."

The mercenary stared at Guts with disbelief in his eyes.

"Apologize, or I'll tell Griffith you've tried to damage our cargo."

The man shrunk even smaller than his crumpled form seemed to allow until finally he mumbled a muffled, "Forgive me." Arsinoe nodded and he scampered away somewhere again unseen. She looked up at Guts who looked down on her dispassionately. Arsinoe's face read as much confusion as it did haughtiness—her parted lips shaped a crooked hall pout. Guts said nothing but eyed the red woman's curved frame and scowled.

"Cover up better, or he won't be the last one to bother you," Guts said and started to walk past her. He reached a few paces behind her when he heard her softly say.

"Thank you, Guts…" He stopped and turned and found her staring back at him. Her eyes looked calculating.

"I didn't do it for you. I don't like you anymore than he does," he said quite brusque. To his surprise she grinned slyly. _Just what is in your head, woman?_ His eyes dropped to her hands. They were relaxed and unburdened. He remembered the damage she did to his armor with those delicate hands.

"You could have handled him yourself…"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you," he asked eying her warily. She paused. Her shoulders tensed and un-tensed.

"Well? Don't tell me you foresaw I would help you."

She chuckled. Her voice raised in volume, "No."

"I knew it. This is just a big game to you. I don't know where you came from, but this is real life. We are fighters. You are freight, and those slavers are none of our business." Arsinoe's smile dropped into a gentle simmer. She looked him in the eyes.

"You believe that even less than I do," Arsinoe said and finally turned to face him. For once Guts seemed not angry but just plain uncomfortable meeting her gaze. She walked close to him so that she could resume speaking in her hushed whisper. "You have honor in your heart," she smiled warmly. He was instantly off put.

"You're delusional."

"You're defensive…but...you were also a slave once, weren't you?" Guts tensed visibly, his eyes laid his passion bare. She knew she was right.

"What does it matter?" _How do you know that?!_

"I'm sorry. That was too forward." She reached a hand to touch his shoulder and he took a step back. She knew she had made a critical error. She withdrew and lowered her gaze.

"I am sorry. I mean that. I am already in your debt, but Guts I must ask you something? A favor…"

"Why should I help you? What's in it for me," Guts replied—his fury seething between grit teeth as he looked down at the top of her black head.

"Whatever you want," she said and meet his gaze with hers. Her smile dropped, her brow tensed with seriousness.

"I'm listening…"

"I need your help. I have to stop the caravan."

"Why," he asked.

"You…you wouldn't understand," she recoiled.

"Then you wouldn't want my help," he said and backed away to leave.

"There's a boy," she blurted out. "A little boy," Arsinoe chewed her cheek as her fists clenched. Guts stopped but his face didn't seem any less detached. "His name is Lucas and…" she trailed.

"And what," Guts said eying her warily.

"And I'm afraid he's going to die," she said looking up at him with glossy eyes.

"You're a liar. We haven't met anybody from that burned out village. And so what? People die. That's the world."

"He's different," she said. "He's like me. But not exactly. I mean." She took a breath and collected herself as she pushed horrifically violent images out of her mind. Now was not the time for distraction. "He's a mind reader. The first one I've met since I left Kushan," she said. She sank to her knees before Guts.

"Please, he's just a child. I have seen what will become of him. I'm begging you. Help me rescue him," she said and bowed her head with her palms on the ground.

Guts stood there looking down on her for a long moment thinking about whether or not she was telling the truth. What she told him sounded completely impossible, but there she was prostrating herself before him on a wild story.

"Ground rules. You leave that bow with me. Your hands are tied until we reach their camp, and if you so much as whimper, I will cut you to pieces."

"Done," she replied without hesitation and rose to her feet.

"Not yet," he said putting up his hand. "My price."

"Yes," she nodded.

"Tell me who you are. How you came to possess that bow, and how the hell you got to Midland."

Distantly, Griffith strolled through the campsite surveying the progress when in the corner of his eye he noticed a streak of red standing before Guts. He eyed closer, unfamiliar ire starting to find its way into his throat.

Arsinoe nodded solemnly and approached Guts slowly. She finally put her hands on his shoulders and while he did tense, Guts didn't pull away. Her lips grazed his ear and she whispered the tale of her manifold past to him. His eyes squinted in doubt. Finally, she pulled away from him, looked into his eyes and said,

"Repeat it to no one, or else..." she trailed. "The few people who also know that story will move mountains to write its ending."

She let go of him and walked back towards the campsite where she found Griffith staring impassively at her. She was startled, but he said nothing, only turning away and returning to his tent. She knew where she slept that night just as well as she knew this was not over. Guts followed soon behind her and scoffed audibly.

"Good. You should not be around him," Guts said bitingly.

She didn't respond but took long strides towards Griffith's tent, finding him inside looking over the maps again. Guts likewise went to go find Casca. He was not going to chance being alone with her.

"Griffith," she said but was at once not certain how to continue.

"Yes," he responded innocuously enough but kept his back to her.

"I'm not sure how that appeared, but I promise you that…"

"That you weren't seducing one of my men," he said and finally turned to face her.

"Not at all," she replied.

"Do enlighten me then," he said staring at her with half-lidded eyes.

"He…I." She took a breath. "I asked him to help me find the caravan tonight. He agreed."

"And when were you planning to ask me if you could leave," he said walking slowly toward her. He watched her waiting for the lie—waiting for the shred of confirmation his righteous mind demanded he needed to justify tying her to a horse for the remainder of their journey. She did not yield.

"I was not going to," she said as he scowled. "I was going to ask you to come with me," she said and kept her eyes on the floor.

"Is that so," he asked skeptical. "Why should I believe that?"

She breathed deeply and slowly and walked to him, she limply pressed her body to his and kissed his tensely shut lips. He did not melt into her as he did the first time, but how he wanted to. He felt the heat rush to his face and his body writhe beneath the skin as he inhaled the fragrance of her skin, but he did not part his lips to hers. He took her arms and broke away but held her there. Arsinoe looked up at him startled.

"We will see tonight then. I will join your little raiding party, but I wouldn't overreach myself, if I were you." He let her go and she fumbled back a step.

"Th-thank you," she said, her eyes trained back to the floor again.

"We leave when the men sleep. No sooner."


	13. Earth Angel

The night dragged on in Arsinoe's mind. Lucas had long since fallen uncomfortably silent. Sin was almost trembling when Griffith finally broke the silence.

"Time to go," he said. As if on cue Guts appeared at the mouth of the tent with Casca at his side scowling.

"Lets get this over with," Casca said crossing her arms. Arsinoe offered no complaint, though the change complicated things. More people meant less stealth. There were not enough to outright challenge a potentially large group. Sin was sure of the other's strength but not their stealth.

"It's not far. We shouldn't need the horses…" Arsinoe suggested as they exited the tent.

"Wasn't planning on taking them," Griffith replied curtly.

"Not so fast," Guts said, taking Arsinoe by the shoulder. "We had a deal," Guts said looking down on her.

"Yes," Arsinoe said flatly—handing her bow to Guts. She put her hands together and let Guts bind them in rope.

"You think that's necessary still," Casca chimed in, but Arsinoe shook her head and didn't protest. Casca relented and turned to follow Griffith. The white hawk kept his back turned, but watched from the very corner of his eyes.

"It is. Trust me," he said looking down on Sin. She couldn't help but smirk at him. His emotions were so exposed.

"Come along," Griffith said sternly. The other three stiffened and followed closely. Arsinoe moved low through the bushes and tried to wriggle her arms in the ropes. Guts did not tie them that tight. She lingeringly supposed that Guts knew she was telling the truth, but she didn't pretend to understand what was going through the large man's mind. She definitely knew she struck a chord earlier though. Anxiousness did not suit her blunt disposition.

"There," Casca spoke softly. Her keen eyes picked up a fire just ahead where the tree line broke. Arsinoe's muscles tensed. Griffith and Guts stepped ahead and peered between the leaves.

Ahead, there was a large cage attached to wagon where many men sat chained and crammed together. Arsinoe looked as hard as she could but could spy no children among them. The cart was guarded by four gritty looking men: one with an axe, two with swords, and one with a bow and arrow.

The group watched and waited until Griffith finally looked over at Arsinoe and asked, "Well, now what," under his breath. Arsinoe looked back at Guts or more specifically the bow that he was holding. Guts shook his head.

Just then, a battered woman came running from an unseen part of the camp. Her clothes were torn, exposing black and blue flesh beneath. She was bleeding from her head and wailing like a coyote. She stumbled before the tree line and started to crawl desperately away from the camp. Reflexively, the bowman strung and unleashed a single arrow deep into her back, nailing her to the ground. The woman made the grinding shriek of a dying animal and squirmed in place. Casca started to unsheathe her sword. Guts took her shoulder and shook his head. The woman was a lost cause.

"Anybody else want to try something," the archer said.

Arsinoe looked to Guts, silently beseeching him for her bow. Guts recognized a unique opportunity and shook his head. "Handle it yourself," he mouthed. Arsinoe's face soured. Griffith remained silent watching them, his porcelain visage turning an unusual hint of green. Casca moved to untie Arsinoe's hands, but Arsinoe thought better of it.

"Whatever. Just, don't leave me hanging…Cunt," she added under her breath looking up at Guts. Guts grinned. Arsinoe rubbed some mud on her face and disheveled her hair. Then she slunk some feet away from them along the tree line, before shouting in her shrillest voice.

"Please! Don't shoot!"

The guards all looked up to where she was hiding.

"Come on out, little lady," the bowman said, rolling a splinter of wood between his teeth.

She kept crouched and put her rope-bound hands up, taking care to tremble feebly. She rose slowly, keeping her head turned to the side and her eyes on the ground. The bowman released an arrow that hit the tree behind her. She jumped like a fawn.

"Now, how'd a little thing like you get loose without nobody watching? Sounds like we need to tell Ron to stop fucking the merchandise." He restrung his bow and aimed it straight for her face. "Now, come here, nice and easy. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot..."

She did as he said. Moving stiffly and uncertain. She knew this type of man. The type that hungers for power not flesh. He launched an arrow that just landed in front of her left foot. She pulled her foot back, but she did not run. She knew better. If she turned her back on him, he would put a hole through her neck before she could reach the trees. She was content to play his game until she could get close enough for his arrows not to matter.

She whimpered aloud, leaves covering her messy hair. Then she covered her face in her hands letting out her most convincing sob. Left foot in front of right foot, in front of left foot. She still needed to clear at least forty yards before he would be close enough to engage him. She needed a little insurance. She could hear the men laughing.

"Just kill the bitch. There's no use having her around so she can run off again," one of the swordsmen said, rubbing his inner ear with his pinky. Left...right...left.

"I dunno. That one's pretty. If you kill all the ones worth fucking, the boss will be pissed," said the axe-man. Right...left...right.

"You know good and well the boss likes them a whole lot younger than her," the bowman said looking slyly at the others behind him. He laughed like a man who's hubris made him ignorant of fear. The other men shared in an uneasy chuckle, but their fear would not let their voices be heard. Right...le-

Arsinoe snapped at their uttering. Without thought or hesitation she broke into an all out sprint, keeping her body low to the ground. Her jaw clenched so tightly, it sent painful jolts up her neck.

The bowman noticed her in two steps and restrung his bow. But in his haste, his pitch went wide and sailed over her right shoulder.

She loosened the ropes and ducked to the left., flanking the bowman while the other three stayed behind him, out of his range of fire. He restrung his bow more deliberately this time, and trained his eyes on her. He let fly one more arrow which grazed her collar and caught the veil off her shoulders. It flew with the arrow almost to the bushes where the others lay in waiting.

Arsinoe's eyes were like a rabid dog as she took a final leap at the bowman, loosening the ropes. She strung them around the man's neck; took one step past him; and jerked him front-ways over the back her shoulder with all her strength. With a loud, unsettling snap the man fell to his knees, his bow hanging slack in his hand.

The remaining three men, scrambled to understand what they just saw. The watched the crazed, brown woman. Then the two swordsmen took the lead. They swirled around her, flanking either side. Arsinoe didn't move immediately—simply glowering at the axe-man who stood transfixed. The swordsmen each came at either side to attack her. She took the dead archer's body by the neck and hoisted him in front of her as a shield—breaking backwards at the last second. The both skewered the dead man's belly. Arsinoe dropped the slack roped and in a swift motion, brought her hand down on the left swordsman's collar. With another crack, he came to his knees and started to shout, but Arsinoe cupped his mouth in her hands and started to twist his head. The man grabbed at her shoulders, feebly. Sin lifted her head as she heard the air shift above her.

The axman raised his weapon and prepared to bring it down atop Arsinoe's head, but he stopped, frozen in his stance. He fell to the ground beside her, revealing Casca behind him with her sword drawn and dripping with blood. Arsinoe nodded in gratitude. Griffith followed behind and unceremoniously plunged his sword into the man who's neck Arsinoe was trying (and failing) to break. Griffith's saber came uncomfortably close to piercing Arsinoe's body, but she did not bring it up. The second swordsman had turned to flee only to be met with Gut's formidable frame. In one sweep, he broke the man's chest place and caved his chest with a revolting crunch.

Arsinoe stood and turned to face the cage of trembling men watching them with hopelessness in their eyes. She scanned them, but did not see Lucas anywhere.

"The key," she muttered to the men. They remained silent.

"She asked you a question. You should here the nice lady out," Guts echoed. The prisoners recoiled in fear.

One prisoner shook his shaggy head and said, "Boss got the only one. It ain't here,"

"Guts, can you break the lock," Arsinoe said with shaky desperation in her voice. He cut his eyes at her.

"This is your project. You do it." Arsinoe scowled. She was beyond sick of the way she was treated.

"Fine, won't be hard imagining your face in place of the lock," she snapped back. Nobody was phased.

"Guts, give her the bow," Griffith conceded.

"Don't worry about it," she balked at him prematurely. She wished she hadn't. The bow would have made this whole process go by so much faster. Her emotions got the better of her.

She looked at the dirty door, with its built in lock. This was going to be difficult, but it wasn't impossible. The iron wasn't pure . She could see the impurities in muddy streaks along the metal. It was still hard to predict the angle needed to break it, and she was certainly short of time. Arsinoe's body was sturdy, but it was still just bone. She breathed in and removed the gloved Griffith gave her, handing them back to him. He took them suspiciously.

She reared her left hand back, and sent it flying at the rectangle panel. It groaned, bending slightly. She winced. Her left hand dripped blood onto the ground, but the lock was warping. She followed with another punch, this time from the right. The lock jumped back, bending at a more advanced angle. She hissed. Felt like her fourth finger just shifted. She took a moment to re-affix it. Meanwhile, Griffith looked on in restrained shock. He looked back at Guts who's raised eyebrow told him more than Arsinoe did in the entirety of her stay. Casca's shock was less restrained.

"How the…hell?"

Arsinoe did not respond. She breathed deep. This was the last decent strike she was going to have in her. She wrenched back, and let out a sound more beast than woman and finally the lock dislodged. She dropped her left hand and made a silent howl with her face.

"Ssshh-it…" she growled in frustration. That was definitely a break she felt. Her knuckled gushed blood on the ground. She pushed open the door with her shoulder and looked inside. They were so helplessly jammed together, she could barely distinguish one man from another.

"Where is he? Where's Lucas," she growled raucously. No one said anything. She stalked to the back and repeated herself.

"Where's the boy? The whispering boy?! Tell me, or so help me, I will end you!" It was once again silent for a moment until one of the prisoners finally spoke up.

"The witch boy, right," one of the more haggard of the men finally said in the back.

"Yes," she said advancing towards him. "Tell me what you know, now."

"Slow down sister," the old man said. "Ain't hiding nothing, but the thing is, you're a little late. The slag leading these bastards already took him away."

A look of abject terror crossed Arsinoe's face.

"Did that to all the kids in the village. They don't come back. Just disappear. Guess it was just his turn."

"Where is he, tell me now," she said grabbing the old man by his filthy shirt.

"Boss's tent is somewhere over there," the man said pointing with his right hand over his shoulder. "Your guess is good as mine whether or not he's there."

She turned on her heels and left the bound men without another word. The three hawks seemed bothered but said nothing. She walked straight past them and stalked her way towards the tent, unarmed, oblivious, and completely unhinged.

"So that's the red angel the brat was talking about," one of the men in the cart said watching her go. "Kind of a bitch isn't she?"

"What'd you say," Guts said looking through the open door at the man.

"I said," replied the man. "That's the 'glowing red angel' the brat's been on about. Kept saying an angel was talking to him in his head. How she was gonna' save us all. I thought it was in his head alright. Thought he'd finally lost it. Never was all there, you know."

Gut's face contorted in an uncomfortable half frown. _Was she telling the truth after all? The Lucas boy... He exists._

"Go with her, you two. She's not in control of herself, and she can not be allowed to run freely," Griffith finally said evenly, though even he was no less disturbed than Guts or Casca.

Griffith carefully untangled Arsinoe's veil from the arrow that had pierced it. The red cloth sported a nice sized hole now, but the fine motor triviality of it re-centered his mind. He started to process just what was going on. Suddenly the surly prisoner piped up and said something that made Griffith drop the arrow slack.

"Well, I guess he got one thing right. Angel cakes over there is definitely on fire," the vagabond said.


	14. This Nearly Was Mine

As Arsinoe stormed along, Casca closed the distance and took her by the shoulder. Sin shrugged away her touch.

"Slow down. You're going to get caught. There could be dozens of men."

"Then, I'll kill them all," Arsinoe growled determined. Casca winced.

"Yes, I know," said Guts even less amused. "Then you're gonna' explode into a ball of fire and fly far away. Give me a break, woman."

Arsinoe glared at him. "Don't patronize me."

"Then don't act like a child," he returned sharply. "Your hands are broken. You are unarmed and defenseless. Now, slow down."

She did not reply because she knew he was right. Her rage boiled beneath the surface of her eyes. She forced a deep breath and turned away from him.

"He was here, and we might be too la—"

"Stop it," Guts interrupted her and clapped his large hand on her shoulder. She eyed him warily. "It's not helping. We're here. We'll see it through. It—" he hesitated. "It'll be fine."

She didn't believe him, not in the slightest, but the gesture didn't go unnoticed. She inclined her head towards a single tent in the distance. A gaudy, weather beaten tapestry was hung at its entrance. She could not explain why, but she was certain that was where they had to go.

"There," she practically snarled and started towards the tent.

"In one ear and out the other," Guts rolled his eyes.

"I've never seen her this way," Casca said.

"It's only been a week," Guts said bluntly.

* * *

Distantly, Griffith took his time slipping between the tents and thinning the herd. Silently dispatching sleeping man after man. With Arsinoe's scarf draped about his neck, he drowned in her scent. Even in absence, his mind lingered to her. The boy was real, that much was clear, but her connection to him seemed tenuous at best. It frustrated him that someone else could have such a hold on her, despite never having met at all.

He crept beside an unwitting bandit's bedside and soundlessly eased his sword between collarbone and spine. The man died without a sound to awaken his brothers. Griffith was without equal when his mind was focused, but tonight that was not the case. He stepped on a man's chest to get leverage as he cut his through. The dying man wobbled and clumsily grasped at Griffith's leg whilst his mouth foamed and gurgled disgustingly. Griffith's face soured.

 _Sloppy,_ he thought then wordlessly severed the man's head with a much cleaner sweep.

One thing he certainly knew, was that it did not suit him to be so taken by the Kushan woman.

* * *

Sin gripped the ruined tapestry in her thumb as she crouched by the entrance of the tent. Her hands had long since gone numb. The queer mixture of endorphins, desperation, and blood loss rendered her euphoric and burning hot.

"Are you sure this is what you want. You should let me go first," Guts asked with what could easily be mistaken for actual concern. Arsinoe rolled her eyes and slipped behind the tapestry. Guts entered after her, and Casca stayed outside watching.

The odor struck her in the face like a clay brick. She felt her stomach turn but pushed it down—scanning from right to left. There was no light in the tent, but the sliver of moonlight from outside.

There were hooks suspended from the posts of the tent, blunt clubs and bundled strips of hide littered the floor. Slumped against a rickety table sat a boy with is head turned away from Sin. Her heart dropped. She lurched towards him and reached for his shoulders.

"Lucas," she said—her voice trembling. She touched his shoulder and he slumped to the floor dead, a pale boy with dirty blond hair and a badly broken jaw. He had a rope tied around his neck and his face was so bruised, it appeared purple. As terrible a sight as it was, it filled Arsinoe with relief that it wasn't Lucas. Guts grumbled audibly behind her. His knuckles went white with his tension.

There was a rustle of movement in the other corner. A small hand whacked the floor, feebly. Arsinoe turned and flew towards where Lucas lay in a heap on the floor. She took him in her arms as tears welled in her eyes.

"I'm here," she cooed softly in his ear petting his matted brown hair. He didn't stir, but she could feel his chest very slowly rising and falling.

"Is he alive," Guts said still staring at the dead boy.

"Yes, please…help me get him out of here," she said looking up at Guts.

He obliged her, took a knee at her side and scooped the boy carefully. The first thing that struck Guts was just how weightless he felt—how pitifully small he was. They walked with the boy out of the tent and into the moonlight and finally got a good look at him. His face was bruised and puffy eyed. His brown hair was matted in bloody clots that hung limp on his round cheeks. Guts could tell by the way he lay that he was broken all over, but the tension in his muscles said despite it all he was in face alive.

Griffith neared the tent as they emerged. Casca met his eyes, and nodded, then slipped out of sight. Griffith saw the boy as Guts set him down carefully into Arsinoe's waiting arms. He was scrawny; he was bleeding; he was clothed in bare rags, and as far as Griffith could see, he was well dead. A deep red tear stretched across his belly almost connecting the points on his hipbones. Arsinoe embraced him gently and rested her head on his. Griffith reached her side and looked at her with sympathy in his eyes. He slipped her veil off his shoulders and gave it to her.

She smiled despite herself and wrapped the boy in the crimson fabric without hesitation. A tear fell down her cheek as she looked up at Griffith, then it fell into the the boy's hair. He stirred and finally, slowly opened his eyes.

He stared unfocused for a little while until his eyes rested on Arsinoe. He let out a sigh and smiled.

"It's you," His voice sounded like a radiator that had been too long out of use, slow to warm and covered in dust.

"Lucas. I'm not going anywhere," She said and cradled his head in her palms.

"I knew you would come. I knew," Lucas said and inhaled deeply into her chest.

"Everything's going to be okay," she said. " I promise."

Lucas's smile dropped and he looked down. Arsinoe's legs were already starting to soak through with his blood. He put her hand on his belly.

"It's okay. I'm happy," he said and closed his eyes again.

"No, no," she murmured and cooed. "Open those eyes. We had a deal. I kept my promise. Now you keep yours."

"Yeah," he asked looking straight through her with those guilty blue eyes.

"We're going to Kushan—to the desert and the sea." He grinned at her and looked up.

"He's here," Lucas said and turned his head.

Sure enough, he was correct. A large man with a bad eye and a smug grin lumbered toward them with his hand on a sword.

"Well, what's all this? Usually you gotta' capture slaves, but sometimes they wander right up to you. You look like I could get a good price for you," he said glowering at Arsinoe.

Griffith strode forward with his sword drawn, until Arsinoe interrupted him with a low shout.

"I'll kill him myself," she said and gently laid Lucas down, to his puppy-eyed protest.

"Stay with me," he murmured feebly.

As Sin rose, Guts rested his hand on her shoulder.

"No. He's mine," he said quietly without taking his eyes off the bandit.

Guts walked past Griffith who grinned wryly. The white hawk nodded and urged him onward. The fight was on.


End file.
